#to get to basic level?? surely you jest

[woodnrust]

I'm on day 2 learning ASL and I'm already able to say basic conversational phrases and even the words that I've learned that aren't exactly going to end up being frequently used are still easy to remember and the grammar structure makes sense to me but all the resources online are saying it can take up to 2 years to become conversationally good at ASL and that's scaring me because so far this is easy breezy lemon squeezy is this supposed to get harder or...?

[fagsex]

dont ever post something you want that can be taken from you because even if i care ahout you mildly ie mutual level, casual acquaintance i will see if i can claim it. for myself. in a purely draconic way. the same way i url hoarded (pretends this is past tense). i probably wont honestly but a part of me will twitch for it. i say someone post about their custom plates expiring (nonmutual, based on your likes post) and expressing how they cant afford new ones at the moment, and my most basic of instincts was to find a way to get and purchase that exact custom plate in their state. an advanced url hoarding instinct, i suppose. something left in their cart online. something low on stock in the store. i want it. im sure this is indicative of other issues with me but i dont always act so its like fine and im normal whats this called like cock and ball training. i jest partially in this post but not entirely. it is up to you to guess where i have #dailygames

[lych33dragoncookie]

Lychee dragon cookie for the ask meme!!!

grins

Sexuality Headcanon: ABSOLUTE SEX GOD DO NOT APPROACH NO MATTER WHAT OR WHO, AVOID AT ALL COSTS YOU WILL GET YOUR SOUL SUCKED THROUGH YOUR DICK AND GET YOUR PEPSI STOLEN. also probably somewhere on the aro spectrum? maybe demi idk Gender Headcanon: Agender, probably. Fem leaning of course, but considering all the dragons are they/them they probably have no concern for the standard human concept of gender. In my mind they're probably she/they, though.

Ship: Incredibly tough pick, I'm honestly mostly between Shadow Milk and Cotton Candy, depending on if I want them to be enabled (made worse) or if I want them to have nice things. Basically toxic yuri vs healthy yuri, your pick BROTP: Uuuuuuuhhh I. Genuinely don't think I have any options here? Lychee kinda just... Hates everyone, for the most part. Rambutan maybe??? But that could just as easily go on Ship, so... Yeah, no idea. NOTP: Obviously all of the dragons would go here big duh they're related, but as far as plausible ones go, again, no idea. They're even totally indifferent towards Snake Fruit, for the most part, so I don't think I can pick anyone here.

Random Headcanon: OK THIS ONE ISN'T RANDOM BUT LET'S GET THIS OUT OF THE WAY; THIS IS NOT A CHILD. I've seen quite a few people interpret them as such and while I somewhat understand the sentiment THAT'S A SUCCUBUS, THIS CHARACTER IS DESIGNED AND THEMED AFTER SUCCUBI, sure they don't actually have sex with you and steal your energy and/or kill you, but the visual traits are absolutely there and they do still charm/hypnotize people and steal their energy that way with a bunch of heart imagery attached, alongside the little black bat-like wings that are so customary in pop culture succubus depictions. And that's not even considering all the ridiculously slutty lines that they have. Seriously, it's almost baffling this kind of character can make it into Cookie Run, let alone Ovenbreak, but I'm here for it <3. Anyways, they still are probably the youngest of the dragons even if they're an adult. That, or... Maybe they're a runt? No following, smaller size, powers that focus less on actual destruction or raw power and more on getting what they need through other more manipulative methods... Hell, they're probably the weakest of the dragons, as far as physical force alone goes. Unless later updates give us evidence of the contrary, maybe it's the lack of worship and power compared to the other dragons that made them such a powerhungry conniving little shithead.

General opinion: ... I mean. Look at my blog.

This one is perfect. A match made in heaven for me. I love jesters, my one set of neopronouns is jest/jestself, my sona is a jester, and they have shaped my identity on a near fundamental level. Add on top of that the succubus motifs, the :3 mouth and the little fangs, the personality, the axe (second favorite weapon right behind hammers), the color palette (dark purple, pink, black, white and greenish cyan?! fuck yes please), how much of a whore they are in general, their entire vibe, and... Yeah, they're perfect. Not only are they just like me fr, but I am wildly attracted to them and absolutely adore very single second they're onscreen. I love you Lychee Dragon Cookie you're the absolute best <3

[jellofish4000]

Women and Unforgiven

01/11/23

I’ve made the conscious decision to kick this year off with a bang. New Years resolutions have never really been a thing that I partake in but it seems as though I’ve run into some problems I’d like to solve in my life. Problems as a source of inspiration. Always the best type of inspiration. The most effective. One problem led to another: Now I am making my first attempt at reading the ginormanimasous entity of a novel titled Infinite Jest. I am enjoying it tremendously so far. I have not yet experienced the notorious pang of fatigue I have been warned of or the rip-the-book-in-half-throw-it-against-the-wall jolt of frustration, although if I get a little more into it I may very well cross into the rip-the-book-into-various-sections-and-rearrange-it territory I have been advised on. As much as my interest in this novel may pique at a fairly high point within my extensive library of special interests, I can’t see my Obsessive Compulsive Fan disorder ever straying me down the path of book vandalism. My OCF can and has guided me into the murky waters of low quality, disseminated and redisseminated  David Foster Wallace interviews. Obviously you surf the web, but at some point you gotta abandon your surfboard for a boat, a boat for a submarine, a submarine for scuba gear and eventually just take that dive all by yourself until page 30 out of 435 can be seen on the Google search engine horizon. A perpetual trek onwards. Today I find myself at the halfway mark of Wallace’s 1997 interview with Charlie Rose, the part where they bring up the 1992 film Unforgiven. The two men sing their praises for the movie for a minute before moving on, but in that one minute, Wallace mentioned something that offended me. I am offended. 

No, I am not offended. I am joking. But his comment was interesting. Wallace claimed in the interview that all the women he mentioned or showed Unforgiven to did not like it. As a woman, one who did enjoy Unforgiven, I want to formally assert that I am simply not like other women. 

No, I am very much like all other women. I am joking. But I do want to respond to Wallace, because there’s more science to his statement. I’d like to think he contemplated why all the women he surveyed did not like Unforgiven. 

David, if I may, or I can say Mr. Foster Wallace if you’d prefer, I want to explain, on behalf of all women, as the leading ambassador of all women across all space and time, why we do not all collectively like Unforgiven. Some of us do. But regardless of whether we like or do not like Unforgiven, I present my 2023 self before your 1997 presence on Charlie Rose’s talk show to assure you that we all have some same basic level of criticism for Unforgiven. 

As a woman, Unforgiven is entirely unrelatable. The film grapples with some larger, overarching concepts of addiction, particularly to alcohol and violence, and of course, it introduces probably one of the first narratives of the female sex worker as a thought-having, politically active, independent human being in a Western as opposed to the Stagecoach-esque damsel in distress prostitute typical of the genre. That is not the divisive part. What makes this film so divisive among the sexes is its one defining quality: Violence. Sure, this can be said of any high action, high budget, easily digestible box office picture, but a clearer argument can be made in the case of Unforgiven. Over the course of a few weeks last semester, I spent a considerable amount of time with this movie. Mr. Foster Wallace, if you would’ve cornered me outside of my Introductory Film Studies class after just having spent 2 hours and 11 minutes in a dark room full of various university students doodling on their notebooks, fast asleep in their barely-comfortable chairs, drinking water every two minutes just to keep themselves awake, and regretting taking the Film Studies course because they were coming to the slow realization that they had to watch something other than the easily digestible box office picture every other day, my response would have blended in perfectly with all the other women you had asked previously. I did not like Clint Eastwood’s Unforgiven. But later that semester I was assigned a paper on that very film, effectively being forced into a stuffy closet with it until I came back out with various metaphorical hickies on my neck and 2000 words on all the ways it only provided an echo chamber for American hyper-individualistic ideology. 

Mr. Foster Wallace, Unforgiven is so male. You and Mr. Charlie Rose were bound to like it. Having watched and watched and then rewatched, I grew to appreciate the film. I grew to understand how revolutionary it was in the realm of the American Western picture, I even grew to enjoy it. But what I gathered most of all from my dissection of this film was that it was never meant for me. For a woman, I mean. Out of the many things I am, I think my sex is a defining quality. It affects every aspect of my life, including how I, as a tried and true cinephile, consume media. I am generally forgiving (and occasionally funny). Generally very open to the stretching of the truth and the cutting of corners. But this movie is quite stiff and rigid, like an ancient block of cheese. Clint Eastwood, an icon of machismo in U.S. entertainment, is our main character, and although he tries his hand at some revisionism, it falls flat. We are introduced to Munny as a changed man, one with two small children and a pig farm and a humble little home and a deceased wife that forever altered his world view. He’s asked to carry out a hit on behalf of an unfairly abused prostitute and agrees to do so. After holding down the fast forward button for a good two minutes and watching all the little frames go by on the Netflix application, we get to the end where he single handedly massacres a room full of men in a bar, downs a couple shots of whisky, threatens a reporter’s life, swears that he’s not afraid of doing it again, before riding off into the night with an American flag splayed in the shot behind him. Eastwood’s character breaks every promise he had made to his dead wife: He defies every word he said in the beginning of the film about “change” and “better person”. To top it all off, every man in the movie is just as bad as him: If not worse. As a female viewer, a carrot is dangled in front of us in the beginning of Unforgiven. We are enticed with the prospect of a good man, one that has allowed the better forces in his life to infiltrate his soul and give his existence a new meaning outside of senseless violence. By the end, it is clear that we were lured into a trap. The prospect is the kicker here. It is the most redeeming quality of this film and it is yanked from underneath our feet. I am not holding the film in contempt or demanding an end to violence in all movies ever, I am simply speaking for all women when I say: We are tired. As the half of the population that suffers from insurmountable amounts of physical abuse at the hands of the other half: We are tired. We are tired and weary of the prospect. The prospect of non-violence. The prospect of a man that respects us. The prospect of a truly changed man. Getting to the end of Unforgiven is another failed prospect. Same old. Exhausting. 

There are wonderful films out there that partake in copious amounts of violence. The 1993 revisionist Western, Tombstone, for example, is chalked full of ridiculously glorious shoot outs in true Western fashion. But, again speaking on behalf of all women because I am the ambassador of all women everywhere, it is a marginally more enjoyable movie. What makes it much better in some ways is not the absence of violence, but rather a presence of vulnerability. Tombstone gives way to a story we women want to hear. One of true change and eventual peace and prosperity amongst men. Tombstone shows the emotion of man, at first being channeled through the shoot outs and the use of violence, but later on, after the men have realized all the suffering they’ve caused, channeled into a productive and intimate resolution of peace. The small gay love story between a cowboy and a showman rings loudly in the background. The final tender moments between Val Kilmer and Kurt Russell’s characters make room for macho manly men to let down their guards and express love for one another after a long period of hate. The small shot of a wagon full of women passing by with bold “Equal Pay for Equal Work” signs raised above their heads. Johnny Ringo and Doc Holliday’s verbal face offs before finally succumbing to their weapons: Their quirky dynamic subtly emphasizing the idea of violence as a final resort. And in the end, Kurt Russell leaves town not with the prospect of returning to wreak havoc again, but rather with the reality that violence was never the answer in the first place.  Mr. Foster Wallace, the Western can be a wonderful thing. It can be truly revolutionized. Whereas Unforgiven had and still has a grip on the critics and film analysts for its “revolutionary” ways, I want to bring up the question of who is it serving? When men like you ask women like me if we liked Unforgiven and all of us say ‘no’, I think it is fascinating and it deserves to be looked into. It’s not “because it’s a Western (Which it’s not)” as you told Charlie Rose or because we can’t see its value and intentions. Of course its intentions are clear. It has always been abundantly apparent that Unforgiven was a rarity in Western cinema when it came out. But Mr. Foster Wallace, if you were a woman that had seen that tired story play out a thousand times in the world around you, would you “like the film?”

[chrysolipsist]

I think I might have the beginnings of a cold. I was working with someone who had a cold and now my nose is slightly runny and I have that feeling like I'm on the start of the rising edge of having a cold. I have a 7 hour flight, followed by another short flight, to get to my next destination. I guess if you don't hear from me again and there were any flight disasters today you can figure out real easy the general direction I was going. Whenever I am about ready to get on a plane, I like to look around the airport and think, "surely God wouldn't murder all these nice people just to get at me, would He?" Listen, if writing about this stuff in jest is bad luck, then how do I know not a single one of the other 300 people on the plane isn't trying to will the plane into crashing just to see if they can make it happen with their mind? It, naturally, makes no difference what I write down right this moment as to whether my flight is uneventful, any more than it affects any other flight. But to be honest, I wish I was going back home. I feel like I'd much rather take a week honest-to-goodness "off" than attend a conference.

I had to consume the last few gummies I had before leaving the country so they're running their course while I wait on the plane. I am having to shape the mood by switching music to something a little more optimistic. Somewhere else, I mentioned that I listen to the studio recording of "Chameleon" (with the extended 2nd half) enough that I can measure time in units of listenings of that recording. That's a good one to listen to because the first half and second half each have a very distinct feeling. The first one is just sort of like, here I am, don't we feel cool right now, and the second one gives a feeling of motion. It is a nice song to be listening to around the time you feel the plane making the turn onto the runway. That, or something that suggests the feeling of gliding.

Actually I wish I were 39,000 ft above sea level right now (in a plane, of course) just about the time they serve dinner. That would be a pretty choice situation to be in right as the thing has shifted gears on me. I note that it shifted gears right about the same time that the recording of "Chameleon" (which I'm listening to) shifted gears. I had been feeling a little more negative but now feel more positive again.

******

After having gotten up extra early for the third night in a row (that is completely miserable) -- the one fault I have in these research partners is that I am definitely not a morning person by any means. I can do it but I find it grueling, and such days are usually minimally productive for me. The creative juices are simply not flowing. I get most of my work done late at night. When there are fewer distractions and I can actually think. I worked regular hours for a number of years but that position gave me plenty of time that could be spent actually working, as opposed to sitting in meetings, few of which are of any consequence whatever. On top of getting up early I basically fast forwarded through the night by flying east. So I was up for about 24 hours I finally got to the room about mid-morning local time and snoozed for a bit. Then I got cleaned up. Now, I think after dinner, I have to do a little work. You can't get weed easily in this country and I could actually use a break. I was fine in the airport, but the novelty of experiencing the world through that lens is kind of wearing off from overuse.

The cold symptoms I was having seem to have abated at some point while I was flying. I don't know why that would be the case. I ate an entire package of Halls cough drops that alleged to have some immune boosting crap in it. Maybe it will come back later, or maybe I never actually had the cold.

[queers-gambit]

The Inky Green Council

[ series masterlist ]

prompt: the Greens gather and make their first move. you’re the inky black spot in a sea of emerald.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!wife!reader

fandom: House of the Dragon

word count: 9.6k+

warnings: spoilers, cursing, whatever else, not edited! canon-level incest, violence, dialogue, basically the whole of episode nine, author is also slightly confused 'cause she's working backwards. ❗️major season one, episode nine spoilers

"Gods be fucking good!"

"Don't stop! C'mon, my Dragon, get there! Get there!"

"'S too much, love! Shit!"

"Bit longer - almost there!"

"Oh, fuck! C'mon!"

"THERE!" You grinned in triumph, pausing to pant when the new chase lounge was properly in place beneath the window. Aemond panted heavily after doing most of the lifting, almost glaring at you but you saw the amusement beneath his facade.

"You're sure?" He asked, slumping into the side of the lounge.

"Yep," you nodded at him, hands to your hips with pride as you looked at the new arrangement. "Or perhaps it would look better over there?" Aemond groaned your name with reprimand, making you giggle. "I am only jesting, love, I like it where it is, under the window!"

"Good, good, 'cause 's not moving again," he sighed as he dropped into the cushioned seat. He looked around for a moment, stroking the imported velvet, chuckling lightly, "You know, I must admit, kinda glad you talked me into this material."

"See?" You smiled at him, taking the comfortable position on your husband's lap - where the arm of the chase cradled your back and his ribcage; letting your legs rest across his lap as his arm wrapped around your shoulder blades. "Nice, isn't it?"

He sighed with defeat, "It is."

"Do not sound so grumpy, you can admit I had a good idea that you're actually liking," you teased him, arms moving to lock around his neck. "Hmm? C'mon, let me hear you say it."

Aemond chuckled, "It was a good idea, my love. Nicely done."

"Thank you," you chirped, leaning in to peck his smirking lips. "Just wait until you fuck me on it - there's plenty of positions on this piece of furniture alone. You're welcome in advance."

"Is that why it's shaped as it is?"

"Mhm," you hummed with a smirk. "It'll come in handy when I'm heavier with child."

"Why wait to test it, then?" He smirked, leaning in to trap your lips in a kiss. He hummed with satisfaction, savoring the taste of you after a long day and night.

"Because it is late, my sweet," you whined, letting him kiss you again.

"But you look delectable, my Princess," he purred, tugging your hips easily to swivel so you sat forward on him. His own lifted to allow you room; both readjusting to the new position of your straddle. Aemond sighed and let his hands drift to your stomach. "You're truly sure? This is not some dream we are sharing?"

"I would not have told everyone if I wasn't sure," you nodded, hands softly laying over his. "I've known for longer than I care to admit."

"You did not wish to tell me?"

"It's not that," you sighed. "I just worried myself for nothing. I let my own thoughts get the best of me, I know it was wrong. But the Maester told me something that I could not rid from my mind."

"Would you like to clue me in, or must we first play a guessing game?" He whispered with a smirk, chuckling lowly.

You scooted forward so your hips were pressed together, but kept his hands on your waist. He let his hands drift to caress your lower belly, and you admitted, "Apparently... If a woman is to lose a babe in the womb, it is usually often within the first three months of conception. So, I did not wish to tell you in case something happened and I... And I lost the babe. I don't think I could handle telling you I was with child, and then lost that child, Aemond."

Aemond's brows furrowed, making you reach up to caress his cheek. "But what if you had lost them, pet? I wouldn't have known, wouldn't have been able to help you."

"I don't know if you or I can help what happens," you whispered. "At this point, it's all internal and by the fate of the Gods. If you'd like, perhaps we could visit the Maester in the morning and we can discuss possibilities?"

"There are more?"

"There are many symptoms that even I did not know about," you chuckled lightly, reaching back to release his eye patch. You caressed his cheek with one hand as the other pulled the leather strap away, letting it fall to the cushion beside you both.

"Like what?" He sighed, doing better about being completely bare with you. It wasn't an overnight thing, and through your marriage, Aemond often waned in his comfort at letting you see his scars.

He was doing much better now, thankfully.

"Well, like, insomnia - "

"The bloody hell is that?"

"Thought you were the educated brother," you teased gently, leaning in to peck his lightly-pouting lips. "It is a new term, my love, even the Grand Maester was nervous to use it. But it in essence means trouble sleeping - either falling asleep, staying asleep, or both."

"Well, whenever my love needs a nap, she'll have one," he promised with a tease, pecking your lips.

"And there's accounts of nightmares," you pouted.

"Hmm," he considered for a moment. "Then you shall never sleep alone. I would not let you endure this by yourself."

You smiled at him. "And when I'm feeling bloated, and I'm having cramps or feeling gassy? With nosebleeds? When my skin turns to that of a young lad's? Not to mention I'll have heightened senses of smells, taste, touch..."

He shrugged, "You act as if I am going to turn away from you. You're creating life, my sweet girl. Whatever you need, I'm here for - even if that's just laying in bed and complaining. I'm okay with it."

You pouted dramatically at him, "How can you be real?"

His eyes rolled, "Well, 's not like you got pregnant by yourself, is it? Least I can do is be here for you. I cannot bare this weight for you," his hands caressed your stomach again, but with meaning, "but I will walk this path with you at whatever capacity you'd like. Ask it of me, pet, and you will have it."

"Careful, husband, or I might get used to your spoiling."

You grinned when Aemond blanched at you, hands dropping to bounce on the material of the chase lounge you sat on. "This wasn't spoiling enough to convince you? What of the gems that I wrap around your neck, hmm?" He let a hand drift up to pet a fingertip along your collarbone. "Do they convince you?"

"In honest, I think I prefer your hand, actually," you teased, taking hold of his wrist to guide him; where his finger naturally curled around your neck to press to your pulse points.

"Makes for a pretty necklace. But I prefer those pearls I got you."

"Oh," you gasped, pulling his hand away as he laughed at your change of attention, "those are exquisite - I should wear them more often!"

"You should," he agreed. "Now, are you truly tired? Or do you have more furniture we need to move?"

"You say that like I was the one who made the late-night delivery," you scoffed gently at him, watching his lips spread in a grin. "But be serious for a moment with me?"

He nodded in agreement, clearing his throat, "All right, about what, my sweet wife?"

"Seeing the Maester with me," you sighed. "We can both hear what he's to say about pregnancy, and perhaps, we can ask Helaena together about her own experience."

"I know parts of what to expect," he sighed.

"But then we'll know in full - eliminates surprises, right?"

"He'd still be at our call should we worry," he grumbled, letting his head lean back with a sigh. His eye closed and you leaned forward to nuzzle under his chin. "We'll seek him out in the morning, pet."

"Thank you," you whispered, turning your chin up so you could peck the underside of his own. "Does that mean bed?"

"Hmmm," he considered, but otherwise didn't move. So you didn't, either. His arms tightened, and you snuggled closer to let your thighs squeeze his hips in a hug. "All right," he finally relented, "you sure you don't want to break this new thing in?"

You chuckled, "Can I be on top?"

"Oh, you devilish woman - c'mere," he barked a quick laugh, using his hips to jut you upwards; one hand catching your cheek to guide your lips in for a soul-sucking kiss.

"No, no, no, no, Aemond, no, no, no, wait, no, wait, Gods damn it, why must you have the longest bloody legs!?" You leapt off the exam table, sparing a glare to the Grand Maester - who had just offered condolences on Aemond's Father's passing, which made the Prince spur from the room. "Aemond, wait! Hang on! Sweetheart? Hey - wait! No, just hang on, wait!" You begged, grabbing your outer dress on your pursuit after your husband. He was quick in his strides and his hands had formed into fists, making you yank the sleeves of your dress on but otherwise leave it as you reached for him. "Wait!"

"For what?" He demanded sharply, rounding around on you suddenly. You reared back a step or two - needing a second to readjust as you were not often on the receiving end of his anger.

"What the hell's happening?"

"What the hell is the bloody Maester on about!?" He countered. "You heard the same as I did - what inference would you assume?"

You sighed, taking both his wrists in yours as his fists refused to lessen. You whispered, "I would assume the King has passed, just as you, husband."

"Then we need confirmation," he decided, turning to head down the hall but with one hand lessening its tight fist to let your own slip into it. "I need to know - something's wrong, the castle's dark."

"I've noticed," you sighed, keeping stride with him and giving up hope to lace your dress up properly. "Who should we ask?"

"Mother," he decided, and after demanding from a few servants where she was after not finding her in her quarters, he was told she was seen heading for Heleana's room - and away you went.

Aemond was swift and got away from you when you were distracted in trying to thank the scared servants he cornered, and he arrived in the room first. You were just steps behind him, but he was only two strides through the door - froze in place - as he stared at his mother.

Based on the look she returned, Aemond understood the Maester's words were warranted - and condolences should be shared. "Aemond," you spoke softly, taking his hand in one hand as the other wrapped around his bicep. "W-We should leave them be, c'mon, love. Come with me," you tried to coax him but your mother-by-law was interfering.

"No," Alicent nodded to you, standing slowly. "There is something you three should know... Best we do it now, together..."

You sighed and let go of your husband to spy out the open door, finding the hall empty, and then shutting it firmly in place. "What is it, Your Grace?" You asked when you returned to your husband's side, whose arm slithered around your waist to constrict.

You let him, hoping your touch still brought him comfort.

"There is... Grieving news," she informed to three of you; hands nervously fiddling with themselves. "And I regret to inform you that Viserys," she paused, as if the words choked her, "h-has passed on in his sleep this night."

Your mind whirled with confusion - because wasn't your grandsire just fine when you saw him? Blinking a few times, you quickly looked up at your husband and let your free hand press into his abdomen. "Dead?" Helaena asked for clarification while Aemond stared at the ground with concentration.

"Yes, sweetling," Alicent nodded.

Your chin lifted deftly as you sensed the next words that were sure to come. And when the Queen met your eyes, and your husbands hand tightened on your waist, you knew.

"I must ask the impossible of you, dear girl," she nodded with meaning, "and this information must not leave this room - "

"You are questioning my wife's loyalty - again - now of all times?" Aemond snapped, making the arm around your waist tighten more - as if possible.

"Aemond, you must understand," Alicent begged, sighing heavily after. "This is of the utmost importance because Viserys implored to me his final, dying wish."

"And what was that?" Aemond asked stiffly.

"That Aegon be King," she revealed, and your heart turned to stone in your chest.

"I beg your pardon?" You couldn't help but utter. "The King... Viserys... On his death bed... Said for Aegon to be King? Not my Mother? Who's been heir for the past twenty-some years?"

"I know it is a shock," Alicent allotted.

"It is more than shocking, Your Grace," you whispered but your mind was playing catch-up with your heart - making you quick to recover. "It is hard to swallow this information so suddenly. But should you swear to me that this is true, I will do what I can to understand it."

"I swear it to you, Princess," she mustered. "And I know this news is heavy and grieving but I need to know where you stand on this. Here, and now."

You let your chin incline as her eyes bore into your own. "Before the Seven, I took vows to stand by my husband. That has not changed. Though it grieves me deeply to learn of my grandsire, and that my mother is to be replaced in succession, I will stand by him. Aemond is whom with my loyalty lies - like usual."

Alicent sighed as you felt Aemond's spine go rigid with pride.

"I would expect nothing less," She admitted with a nod. "Then forgive me for imploring again, but this news truly need not leave this room. Even to your mother, sweet girl," Alicent directed at you.

"Hmm," you mimicked your husband, feeling his hand flex with warning, "I did figure as much. I understand how pressing this is, Your Grace, this news will not fall from my hand - nor lips."

"Can we be done questioning my pregnant wife, now? Have we established her loyalty yet?" Aemond snipped, stepping between his mother and wife. Traditionally, that is a dangerous place to dwell and you did your best to keep him out of it. "What's to happen now? What are we to do - wait?" He asked, changing his tone, and the direction of the conversation.

"We cannot yet find Aegon, he's not in his chambers," Alicent informed nervously, starting to pace. "We need to locate him before anyone else - it is paramount."

"Who is looking for him?" You wondered.

"As of now, Ser Criston," she nodded, making you glance at Aemond.

"We will wait with you," he decided to his mother.

"I should go find the babies," Helaena distracted herself from her inner monologue, setting her stitch work aside.

"Do you wish for me to go or stay?" You whispered to Aemond in High Valyrian - knowing Alicent did not speak the language, nor understand it despite the years as 'being' a Targaryen.

"Always stay with me," he whispered back as his sister hurried out the door. Aemond sighed when he watched his mother pace, leading you towards the hearth. "Sit, love," he nodded towards one of the chairs. "Get off your feet a moment."

"No, 's all right," you assured, gently pressing his chest so he sat in the chair just behind him. You smiled at him as you finally had time to do-up your dress at last, one of his hands lingering by your thigh to reach out and graze against you at will.

Should you need him, he was there to assist you; maybe to provide a pressing finger to allow for a perfect bow from your laces, maybe just to nod in approval when you turned in presentation. He did so with a smirk of mild amusement.

As the morning slugged forward, you and Aemond waited with the Queen for Ser Cole to return. He waited in the chair, staring into the fire with contemplation as his fingers teased your own; mindlessly fiddling as you chose to remain standing.

When the door opened, Cole entered silently and made the Queen turn in question from her pacing. You watched silently as Aemond continued to stare forward, mutely pressing a lingering kiss to the back of your hand that he held. "Prince Aegon's not to be found within the castle walls, Your Grace," Cole informed as he shut the door. Stepping forward, he continued, "Your father has sent Ser Erryk into the city to find him."

Aemond listened to the words, his fingers stalling between yours.

"Ser Erryk knows Aegon. He has the advantage," The Queen muttered in despair.

Your eyes narrowed when Cole's head turned to look directly at your husband, who's head tilted in the slightest to clock the Knight's motion and then turn back to the flames. Your free hand rose to slide into the hair at the base of Aemond's neck.

Neither of you spoke with words as your glare hardened into your husband's the moment his eyes rose to meet yours, truly not wanting him to go looking for his brother on some wild goose chase. Maybe you just did not want to be left behind, but his gaze did not linger and soon, returned to the flames for stoic consideration.

Alicent approached Cole with a rush to her step, lowering her voice, and telling him, "I trust again to you, Ser Criston, and to your loyalty. Aegon must be found, and he must be brought to me. The very fate of the Seven Kingdoms depends on it." You wanted to throw your shoe at her head - knowing she was consciously usurping the Throne from your mother but for your life's sake, you would play along. Plus, as all kids, your husband was his mother's pawn, caught in this brewing war that was not truly his own. You could not abandon him; and could never convince him to leave his family or the cause, so, for now, you listened and made your mental notes. Alicent whispered, "Everything you feel for me as your Queen..."

"I will not fail you," Cole assured with determined adoration.

"I'll come with you," your husband decided from his seat still; making your eyes widen, fingers to tighten in his, and for your head to snap down to look at him.

"That would not be my desire, Aemond," Alicent told him, turning for her son.

"Nor my own," you told your husband pointedly, watching him swiftly stand from the ornate chair. You sighed and let him turn for his mother, glaring into the fire with hands on your hips.

"If anything has happened - "

"Cole needs me, Mother," Aemond cut her off, arms laying over one another to grasp the other's elbows. "Ser Erryk isn't the only one who knows Aegon's doings." You wanted to scoff with indignation, but Aemond smirked wider, "Besides, my wife grows restless and will accompany us. She knows this city best."

Alicent turned her head to look from you over to Cole, who nodded with acceptance - understanding she was silently asking him to watch over you both, because while you didn't always like it, Alicent treated you as a part of the family after needing time and reason to warm up to you. Aemond's eye did not stray from his mother as she weighed in her mind the options; second son waiting for approval and leave.

When his mother nodded mutely, he returned the motion before sighing and letting go of her with one final look. His eye darted up to meet your own while offering his hand, "C'mon, love. With me."

You didn't get to say anything to Alicent as the moment Aemond's hand was in yours, he was pulling you to stalk out of the room so you could prepare yourselves for a search around the city for the 'heir' to the Iron Throne. Now that Viserys was gone, it was optimal time for Aegon's ascension as the realm cannot be without a ruler.

"What was that?" You asked in High Valyrian under your breath as Cole followed you both at a distance.

"That was me getting you out from under the castle's spies eyes. You're safest with me, my love," he answered in the Common Tongue.

"Say 'castle's spies eyes' five times fast and I'll suck your cock right here, right now," You teased, eyes rolling with humor when his gait faltered slightly - making Cole offer only a mild look of confusion. "I'm only jesting, my Gods, Aemond!"

"Hmm," he perked a single brow, leading the way into your room; slamming the door. You both changed quickly as Cole made himself presentable for the adventure - leaving your husband to sigh into the privacy of your shared quarters, "We'll need your help, love."

"We both know the back allies," you shrugged meekly, lacing on a simple dress that wouldn't accentuate your figure - allowing you to blend in with the crowds and people of the capital. With a hooded cloak and laced boots, you were ready; briefly reminded of your youth when you liked to sneak out and mingle amongst the people. "We'll make do with us two."

"But you know them best."

You nodded, "This might be true... But there's one problem, love."

"What?"

"The White Worm."

He sighed through his nose but did not otherwise respond.

Cole had chuckled earnestly when Aemond all but instantly bought you something to eat; keeping an arm around you as you picked at the sweetly baked bread to pop pieces in your mouth. Your husband knew you well, and he knew how to keep you both close and occupied - avoiding any idea of you wondering off.

Look, sometimes you got distracted, okay? Not your fault that you - sometimes - went off trail. It wasn't a crime!

And with your pregnancy nose and belly, you had been caught once or twice sneaking into the kitchens because you smelled the freshly baked goodies. So, Aemond, The Good Husband, bought from a vendor, and handed it over to you before taking the lead - ensuring he could keep you within his hold.

"Where to first?" Cole wondered, readjusting his stitched cap as he grew restless of not knowing their destination. The Knight did not often patrol the city after his promotion to King's Guard - then to Queen's Guard - but whatever.

Some disguise is was.

Yet it wasn't much better than your husband - who was always recognizable due to your little brother maiming him almost a full decade ago. He only wore a muted color hooded cloak over his white locks; something unwittingly similar to you.

Couples that match together, stay together. It's proven.

Through a mouth of sweet bread, you offered, "Pabably the Stweet of Swilk."

"Oh, my Gods," Aemond whispered, tightening his arm as you snickered gently. To Cole, he directed, "Aegon brought me to the Street of Silk," he enunciated, making you silently mock him, "on my thirteenth nameday. It was his duty as my brother, he said, to ensure I was as educated as he was."

Your eyes rolled at Cole when you three came to a halt at an intricately carved door, and your husband took hold of the large, iron knocker. He paused to spare Cole a look, finishing his thought, "At least... That's what I understood him to mean."

He used the knocker to rap three times as you took another distracting bite, stood perfectly between the men, and looking between them with mild interest.

"I don't follow," Cole responded.

"He said, 'Time to get it wet'," Aemond leaned in to tell Cole, chuckling dryly when your hand swung to jab into his shoulder.

You swallowed your bite just to reprimand, "That's disgusting."

"Every woman is an image of the Mother, to be spoken of with reverence," Ser Criston Cole replied as if it were a rehearsed response, looking around you three with caution before reaching for the iron knocker and rapping three more times.

Impatient, are we?

You glared at Aemond and pointed at Cole, "That's a man's response."

"Oh, do I offer you insult, wife?" He teased, making your eyes roll with humor.

When the doors opened, you looked the woman up and down as she asked, "What can I do you lot for? You lost or something?"

"Or something," you replied first with a smirk.

Criston Cole took the lead, "Sometime last night, we... Misplaced our drinking companion. Knowing that he has been, in the past, a patron of your fine establishment, we thought to inquire here as to his whereabouts."

But the woman eyed you all with mistrust before demanding of Cole, "And describe him."

"That is a delicate matter," Cole informed quietly. With a glance to your husband, Cole leaned in to mutter in the Mistress' ear, "You see, the man we seek is the young Prince Aegon. And I may trust, I hope, in the discretion of your trade."

You took another bite of sweet, baked bread as the Woman of the House scoffed softly through her nose, informing you three, "The Prince is not here."

After you swallowed, you asked, "Has he been here, Lady? Earlier, perhaps?"

"Quite a bit earlier," she told you. "Years ago, in fact."

"Hmm," you shrugged a bit, sharing a look with your husband.

"But more recently?" Cole demanded, understanding the games being played. It was known the Prince Aegon had insatiable desires; and King's Landing was flush with little white-haired bastards.

"He does not frequent the Street of Silk," the Mistress informed stiffly. "His tastes are known to be... Less discriminating."

"Meaning what?" Cole asked what you all wondered.

Instead of answering, the Mistress smirked and tisked her teeth lightly. "I wish you luck, good Ser. And my best to your friend," she pointed to Aemond before she even turned her head.

You watched his head bow under her heated gaze, understanding if there was one weak spot of your husband's, it was anything pertaining to his appearance. He was vastly insecure since the loss of his eye, and any sort of unsavory attention on him made his stomach quiver gently.

You cocked your head, taking another slow bite as Cole turned and stalked away, and the Mistress eyed your husband, purring, "How you've grown."

With perked brows, you paused to blink away the shock and then bite your bread to hold between your teeth; freeing your hands to literally shove the Lady of the House back behind the threshold and then yank the wooden door shut with a clang while yelling some obscenity that was only vaguely understood.

"Hmm," your husband hummed when you snatched his hand, turning to lead you both after Cole. "Jealousy's not a good look to wear, my sweet wife."

You grumbled and ripped the bread from your mouth to chew as his arm came around to secure your shoulders. "And now?" Cole asked.

"We follow her," Aemond nodded, letting you take the lead.

Cole nodded, following beside your husband. "It seems you were mistaken as to Aegon's habits."

Your eyes rolled, "Or perhaps the citizens of King's Landing are loyal to their own - especially those who pay their dues."

"He could be in the hands of mercenaries," Aemond listed, "on a ship to Yi Ti. He could be dead."

You eyed the people you passed by, listening to the two men just behind you. Cole responded, "Let us hope, for your Mother's sake, that is not the case."

You peered down alleyways in search for the slumped-over Prince.

But Aemond grew irritated the further into the city you passed, snipping, "Here I am, trawling the city, ever the good soldier in search of a wastrel who's never taken half an interest in his birthright."

Both you and Cole had to pause in step to turn back when Aemond came to a halt in the middle of the walkway, almost seeing the steam rising from him as his anger stewed. "'Tis I the younger brother, who studies history and philosophy, 'tis I who trains with the sword, who's married to a proper Lady, who rides the largest dragon in the world. 'Tis I who should be - "

"Hush yourself, now, you speak dangerously, my love," you insisted, stepping closer to him. "Aemond," you sighed with reverence, knowing his pain and irritation. Though you had no desire to be queen, you knew your husband often let his mind blur with anger over how often he's overlooked. "This is not always to be our struggle. Hey? This will not always be reality, but for now, it is your brother's and we have responsibilities to uphold."

Cole nodded, stepping up behind you as you smoothly folded into Aemond's side - the Knight assuring, "I know what it is to toil for what others are freely given."

"Hmm," your husband considered, lip curling; head turning to direct his attention to the side. "And we can't find him, Cole. You are a decent man with no taste for depravity." This made Criston look around the alley for spying ears; something you often worried over. "His secrets are his own... And he's welcome to them." Though, you did not anticipate the next moves; stepping back when Aemond neared his mouth towards Cole's ear, muttering, "I'm next in line for the Throne. Should they come looking for me, I intend to be found."

You sighed through your nose and forced yourself to walk away, still looking for your brother-by-law. Your anger bubbled as you had to play the loyal fool; but the truth was, any talk of stealing your mother's Throne made you uneasy. Yet with your husband, you could not hide away any emotion for he always saw through you, and moments later, his hand slid into your own.

You tightened your grip to assure him you were still with him. He could feel the tension, and something in his gut prickled to fix it.

"A moment, Ser Cole," Aemond nodded to the Knight; making you pause before you could exit the alley.

Cole looked you both over before agreeing with a nod, moving several feet away; and for Aemond to turn so he hovered over you. "You're tense," he noted.

"You speak dangerously," you muttered.

"I speak truth."

"You speak of usurping the Throne," you snipped, "something I'd rather you leave to your brother. You're not wrong, my husband, and you are the better fit from Aegon, but that does not make any of this right. My mother is the rightful heir, and you know it - deep down, I know you do."

"Yet neither of us dare speak it now," he muttered.

"So instead you speak of taking the Throne for yourself?" You demanded harshly. "Gods be good, Aemond. I did not think you daft! Aegon is next in line, and whether he wants it or not, your family intends to instate him over my mother. You and I are both bound by law, obedience, loyalty, and duty to stand at their side - less we risk death. Less we risk execution. Please, do not let us talk of this longer than we must - it will not be the resolve we want."

He sighed and his eye dropped to soak you in. "You'd make the most perfect fucking Queen."

"And you a just King, but that is not the reality we live in right now. If we want to see tomorrow, you and I are to play a part."

He nodded, licking over his lips, "My words are safe with you?"

"As mine are with you - but speak no more to Ser Cole. Please. For my sake at the very least. I cannot say what he would keep secret, and I do not wish to risk us further than we are."

He nodded, sighing, "He's chalked it up to sibling rivalry I'm sure."

"With reason," you nodded. "Just tread lightly, my love."

Aemond nodded again, kissing your forehead. "Thank you, pet."

"I'm always here for you," you promised softly, lacing your hand with his. "But for now, let us try to locate your fucking brother."

He let you turn the pair of you to continue onward. Cole joined you both, and as a trio, scoured the streets for the white-haired Prince. Through alleys, around turns, over courtyards - you all traveled, in the hopes of locating the Prince before the Hand's party finds him.

However, some hours into your search, you came to a halt with a suspicious Aemond behind Ser Cole - who was staring off into the crowd of one of the local taverns. "My Prince, my Princess," he spoke softly, earning both your attentions. He nodded pointedly, and as you rocked onto your toes for a vantage point, both you and Aemond made out the bodies of Ser Erryk, twin brother, Arryk, and the Hand of the King - Otto Hightower - talking to the White Worm.

"Oh, that's interesting," You smirked to the lads, making them both look to you.

"What is?" Cole asked.

You decided to keep the information on the mysterious woman to yourself for now, replying, "It looks like a meeting of sort. They're buying information, and we know who the Hand seeks..."

"They're buying Aegon's location," Aemond nodded.

"We'll follow them," you smirked, landing back on your flat feet. When one of the twins offered the woman in royal silks a sack full of money, your smirk widened, "See? Work smarter, lads, never harder. C'mon, this way," you crept around the tavern, keeping them close to the walls as you yourself blended in much better. You risked getting closer, busying yourself amongst the people, and just as you thought the White Worm spotted you, she was revealing the Prince's location.

The Knighted Twins were sent to collect the Prince, and you hurried back to Cole and Aemond - snagging both of their wrists as you sped past them. "Hang on!" Aemond snipped, hustling to follow you. "What's going on?"

"The Prince is being held in the Sept, and if we're smart," you quipped back over your shoulder, letting them go to follow on their own, "they will retrieve the Prince and we'll steal him away. Come now."

Aemond smirked at Cole as you lead them down new passage ways - leading with confidence because now that you had a definitive destination in mind, you could easily navigate the complex city to cut down on time.

"How is it you know the city so well?" Cole wondered.

You mused, "You know how I was as a child."

He snorted, "Unruly."

"I prefer rebellious, Ser," you corrected with a sharp glance. "I believed in knowing the people you're to govern, so, I would wonder the streets on sleepless nights."

"She cannot be stopped," Aemond shrugged after. "Best to just follow her now."

Cole nodded and around bends you went. Eventually, you arrived at the Sept, and peered around. "Stay here," you spoke to the two. "I'll see if they're in."

"And if they are?" Cole asked.

"Then I'll signal to you and just blend in," your eyes rolled. "This is not my fight, this is where you two come in. So, make yourselves scarce from sight. We'll have the element of surprise."

"Pending you're not seen," Cole snipped.

"Do not underestimate my wife, Cole," Aemond stepped in, hand moving to your waist to stand chest-to-chest with you. Cole actually backed off a step when he noted the matching glares.

"My Prince," he grumbled, nodding with agreement before turning away.

Aemond sighed through his nose as he peered over your head for a moment, surveying up the stairs to the Sept. "Be quick and unseen," he whispered, pressing his lips to your forehead. "And be careful," his hand moved to hold the small bulge of your lower belly.

"Mhm," you agreed against his lips, pressing another quick kiss. Turning, you hustled up the stairs and only felt mildly winded when you reached the landing. With a skeptical, heavy glance around, you noted the positions of everyone before moving for the doors of the holy building. You were only there a moment before catching sight of the Knighted Twins wrangling Aegon in - rushing back for the stone banister to give a low twiddling whistle.

Aemond recognized it and nodded to Cole.

You remained at the bannister, busying yourself and not looking back when you heard the grunting of Aegon and Arryk. You only stepped back, the three not even glancing your way, and offering you a front row seat to the impending battle. Only, you weren't alone as Cole stepped out from his place and your husband rose silently from his hidden crouch; Cole's sword extended as he spoke, "I do regret this, friend."

You laughed quietly when the tension filled stalemate turned tides when Aegon shoved an elbow to Arryk's stomach - making him release the Prince. From there, it was Cole against Arryk and Aemond against Aegon - both parties eventually making it down the stone stairs.

"Princess," A voice muttered, making you look up.

"Ser Erryk," you nodded. "You're not eager to join in?"

"No," he watched with you from the top of the stairs. "I do have conflicting feelings regarding matters."

"Over?"

"The progression of things," he muttered.

"You would support my Mother, would you?"

"I believe I would, after what I've come to witness," he admitted softly. "And yourself? You're Green now?"

"I bleed Black, my good Ser, do not mistake that," you hushed. "But if I am to survive with my husband, I have a part to play... Though... Something tells me you are sooner to see her."

"If I am... Would you have a message?"

Your chin inclined discreetly, "That my blood runs hot and Black. Tell her I remember our House words, and I would never abandon her. She will understand."

"I will, Princess."

"And that I love her. Remind her, Ser Erryk, if you see her before I do," you rushed now, feeling emotion swell in your chest.

"Princess," he agreed. "In the mean time, should you need my service - "

"There is something else," you nodded to him, the men still distracted enough to allow you brief privacy.

"ARE YOU GOING TO HELP ME!?" Arryk demanded of his brother, your form hidden by the towering stone stairs Arryk stood under.

"Name it," Erryk muttered, keeping an eye on the battle.

"The Princess Rhaenys is locked in her room," you muttered. "She is not to be harmed, I'd see her out of the city. If you get the Queen Who Never Was out of the city, Ser, I will be forever indebted."

"It would bring me honor to do the right thing," he admitted. "I will do what I can, Princess."

"Thank you, Ser," you whispered.

"LET ME GO! BROTHER!"

"Go," you ushered, breaking apart from the Knight as Aegon yelled and thrashed in Aemond's arms.

"LET ME GO!" Aegon sobbed. "I HAVE NO WISH TO RULE!"

Cole had disarmed Arryk and taken his sword, you sweeping past the pair to approach the quarreling, platinum-blonde brothers.

"No taste for duty!" Aegon continued. "I'm not suited!"

Your husband voiced your same thoughts, "You'll get no argument from me."

You might've actually felt bad for the Prince as Aemond turned Aegon to face him, and Cole took your flank. The Prince Aegon begged his brother, "Let me go," he grabbed both of Aemond's cheeks, "I will find a ship and sail away, never to be found."

Knowing he was next in line, Aemond actually faltered as he considered the idea - but his eye cut over, and caught the shake of your head. He looked silently back to a hopeful-Aegon, and found no answer. Cole stepped away from you to wrap his arm around the future King's shoulder, informing, "The Queen awaits."

Seeing the physical anger as Aegon's hands shook while squeezing your husband's cheeks, you stepped up, "Aegon, do not. Fate has a way of finding us all, it is not so easy to sail away from. Let go - now."

He did not look away from his brother, but he did let go; only to push Cole's arms off him and stalk away - your feet stepping back to give him a wide berth of range. When away, you swiftly stepped up into Aemond's chest, and like his brother, took his cheeks in hand to force his eye to yours.

Before you could say anything, he only leaned down to press a suffocating kiss to your lips as his hand rose to hold your cheek and jaw. He paused to breath against you, foreheads resting together to let you breathe one another in. "Hey, hey," you hushed against his lips, petting his cheek with near desperation, "stay with me now. Do not get lost in your head, stay with me."

He nodded, pressing another reassuring kiss to your lips before whispering, "I'm with you, my love."

"Good," You sighed, taking his hand with yours, "because we need our wits about us in the coming days."

Aemond silently agreed, letting you pet a few stray, fly-away hairs back into place before he turned you to follow him - leading you both off in pursuit of his brother and Mother's guard.

You watched him for a time, just content to study his profile as you poured you both goblets of wine. He had been silent since returning from the streets of King's Landing; since finding his brother, ready to stow away and run away from your Mother's birthright.

"Here, love," You whispered, having watched his left hand flex in contemplation. He mutely looked up and accepted the wine, eye drifting back to the flames. You gently prodded him until both feet were flat to allow you room to slide onto his lap; sighing as you settled, asking gently, "Where are you, right now?"

His frowned deepened, eye raking over your face as he considered his answer. "In truth, the past..."

"All right," You sighed, leaning into his chest as one arm stretched to lay across his shoulders as the other brought the goblet to your lips. "Take me there with you, where in the past are you?"

He sighed, "All over, sweet girl. There is much on my mind."

"Over Aegon's words?"

"And actions..."

You nodded softly, curling a strand of hair behind his ear. "What do they make you think?"

"That I should've strangled him years ago," He sighed, taking a gulp of wine. With his lips brushing the rim of the goblet, he muttered, "Much would be different now. Perhaps I think of what could have been, should I of chose different."

You paused to let his words and emotions simmer, nodding slowly, asking, "Do you think much would be different with us?"

He snorted through his nose, "Not in the least bit."

"Oh?" You purred with a smirk, letting your lips pucker on his temple.

"Your brother had claimed my eye," he nodded with a small smirk, "at least, by the time I genuinely considered smothering the drunken fool, we were already engaged."

"Hmm," you mulled over, letting the arm around his shoulders flex gently to bring your hand to his cheek.

He swallowed another gulp of sweet wine. "Perhaps, if I'd been more of a man then, we'd not be here now."

"Funny you think you weren't man enough, even after what Luke did. I don't know grown men today who could handle what you endured. Funny you think you were man enough, yet at only age ten, you became dragonrider to Vhagar - largest in the world. You've always been man enough, Aemond, but you're not ruthless. No matter how you might think, you're not like your brother."

He smirked gently, "I ever tell you how perfect you are for me?"

"Hmm... Not today," You smirked, hearing him chuckle briefly. It was better than his suffocating silence.

But the silence fell again as he became lost to his thoughts. "Would you still love me?" He asked softly. "If I were King?"

"I do not think there are many scenarios for us to endure that I might love you less," you assured, knowing he needed the reassurance in this moment. "What you and I have, Aemond, is not conditional. I do not love you with terms, be assured that in any lifetime, I'd have you - and love you, still." You sighed against his temple, whispering, "Look at me, please."

His head tilted to gently drag the tip of your nose across his skin; letting you lean back to take him in, in full.

"You were raised with only a Mother's love," you whispered, "and were conditioned to believe you were not worthy of it. But you are, my sweet husband. You're worthy of love, and I've plenty to give."

He sighed, breath fanning against your lips, "What an honor to receive it."

Your smile was warm and never faltered - even when you leaned in for a kiss. In that moment, in your bubble, Aemond felt safe; and in a desperate moment, his forehead met yours as two tears fell in rapid succession. You let him grieve whatever was, what could have been; the privacy of your rooms and warmth of your embrace provided him a safe place to emote - and though he was in no way a master of it, he was getting better.

Your empty goblets made it to a table's top to rest, your arms tight as his head rested in the crook of your neck and shoulder; hand splayed across your lower belly to let his thumb sweep in comfort.

"You're fidgeting," Aemond muttered.

"I cannot help it, this is wrong," you whisper-hissed back; shifting in your spot to once more brush out the skirts of your black gown.

He sighed, pecking your temple, and whispered, "Please, my love."

You did your best to quell your nerves, but with the whole of King's Landing being ushered like cattle into the Dragon Pit, you could not help it. You were expected to stand by your husband (as if Aemond would ever allow you to stand elsewhere), beside the soon-to-be Queen; watching your brother-by-law be crowned King.

Oh, how wrong this was - but you could not stop it.

Otto Hightower, Hand of the King, called above the gathering crowd, "People of King's Landing... Today is the saddest of days. Our beloved King... Viserys the Peaceful... Is dead."

You listened to the shocked mutterings flood from the capital’s residents - their eyes turning beady the longer they stared at you. Your chin lifted, and Aemond's hand deftly rubbed along your waist.

Above them all, you stood on a platform dressed in your House colors. You did not speak as Otto called, again, "But it is also the most joyous of days... For as his spirit left us...! He whispered his final wish: that his firstborn son, Aegon," you tightened your own hold on your husband in support, "should succeed him!"

Your breaths were held as the crowd rumbled in conversation - but a collective exhale heaved when they started to applaud in approval. Your jaw steeled, these foolish citizens not realizing in truth they were supporting a stolen Throne to a child-playing-man. Guards marched through the crowds and forced a path that lead up to the stage you were stationed on.

As the trumpets blew, Aemond muttered in your ear, "Here comes our new King."

"Ease yourself," you hushed him, offering a look of understanding before facing forward again.

"Present... ARMS!" And a choir of sword sung as they were unsheathed and held above the soldiers heads to form a pathway for Aegon to walk under.

You could only keep track of Aegon through the crowd because after he passed each soldier, their swords swung in punctuation after him. You shuffled a half step closer to Aemond; an arm around his back to hold your anchor as your other hand laid against his stomach for balance. His arm tightened almost subconsciously around you, ensuring your proximity, but did not otherwise move.

"It is your good great fortune," Otto called again, "and privilege... To be here to witness this: a new day for our city... A new day for our realm. A new King... To lead us!" Aegon reached the end of the procession, each sword down - before swinging back up in salute.

Dare you say it, but Aegon looked positively seething to climb the stage stairs to meet the royal procession. Swords were sheathed as Aegon reached the top of the stairs to stand before his Mother and grandsire; the latter stepping back.

As Queen Regent, Alicent stepped forward to kiss her eldest son's forehead - a public sign of love, respect, and support - before she guided him to step up in his place. Your mother-by-law turned, then, to step back aside.

The guards all moved in sync - moved into position as their new task to guard the King. Otto stepped towards Aegon and gave one, single, meaningful nod; stepping back in time for Aegon to sink to his knees.

You watched the coronation with something akin to burning anger dissolving your gut - unsure what to make of the situation you bore witness to. Yet, like your husband, you've mastered the stoic position and look - and did not let your façade fade the longer you stood there. Aegon was the first born son... And even you, a student of history, could not dispute his claim.

Aegon the Elder was anointed in oils, words of blessing spoken over him and his reign. You silently prayed that it was not for long. Your husband had stood with his blind eye to his brother, not wanting to break his pride to turn and look; but his sister did. You, like your husband, just stared forward with obedience as you truly did not want to watch the Septon give his blessing.

However, as if connected by a string, both you and your husband's heads turned to watch the Septon step back and for Ser Criston to take up the crown and turn to the knelt boy. To the crowd, he explained, "The Crown of the Conqueror, passed down through generations."

Cole brought the crown to Aegon's head, and your hands tightened on your husband's torso when you clocked his unwavering glare. The siblings seemingly switched places, and now it was Helaena who could not bare to watch any longer as Aemond's eye never once lifted from his brother.

It was hard to read what he felt, but by the tight squeeze of his hand, you knew it was not positive.

"Let the Seven bear witness: Aegon Targaryen is the true heir to the Iron Throne," Cole announced, and you swore you felt the burning glares of a few court and crowd members fall over you - your obvious lineage now posing problem.

Aemond's head bowed to look down at you, your eyes locking for a long moment as the Septon helped Aegon to his feet while the crowd stewed on what they just witnessed. The holy man bowed first and as Aegon's eyes moved, everyone bowed with respect. Your hand had to discreetly nudge Helaena's elbow, but she, too, gave a short curtesy.

Aegon's eyes cut into yours, and for a moment, you considered showing defiance in support of your mother, but knew better than to tempt fate. It was bad enough you wore black on such a day instead of a supportive green, but you liked to dress to match your husband. So, with stiff knees, you let yourself only just barely curtesy to the new (false) King. Aemond gave a single, swift nod of his head - and his brother did not dare ask for more.

Otto gave the final bow, and the High Speton offered his arm in presentation as he announced to the thick crowd, "All hail His Grace, Aegon, Second of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men," Aegon only then started to slowly turn to face 'his' people for the first time, "Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!"

It was deathly quiet.

"Aegon the King!" Criston Cole called, rallying the crowd into an uproar of cheering, applause, and approval.

"Fucking sheep," you muttered in judgement, words drowned out as Aegon boasted in the glory of being King.

Aemond sighed against your forehead before kissing the top of your head - something only Otto seemed to notice. But the attention was drawn by Aegon pompously brandishing his sword, encouraging the crowds again. You noticed the way Helaena twitched and worried as you knew of the girl's visions, reaching for her as she turned towards you and Aemond - your husband between you still.

With an arm around your stoic husband, your other reached for the girl's forearm, "Are you all right, Heleana?" You hushed.

But her eyes only closed with concentration. You released her from your hold, the crowds chanting their support; and your worried gaze met your husband's. Just then, as your mouth opened to voice concern, the middle of the Pit's floor exploded in a hurricane of rocky debris. Your husband swiftly yanked you across his body to push you closer to his sister and turning to attempt to shield you both, but hunched slightly over you as the dust mushroomed around you.

Both his arms were tight around your torso, but none of you could look away - making out the sight of the Red Queen, Meleys, sweeping her mighty tail around citizens, taking out whoever she could in an effort to satisfy her bloodthirsty rider.

Princess Rhaenys Targaryen - freed by Ser Erryk by your command.

"Aemond," you shuddered as the ground trembled.

"I've got you, I've got you," he assured swiftly and you felt Heleana cowering lightly into your back. Aemond's eye swept over you in concern, pulling you flush against him as his body was used to shield you still; one of his hands dropping to lay protectively over your belly.

Chaos rained around you; screams of people drowned by the threatening growls of the mighty dragon. Then, she gave a shrieking bellow that only echoed in sound around you; and your hands tightened on your husband. Ser Crsiton had the Queen Regent covered as Aemond seemingly had you and Helaena; but you knew little could be done for your stepmother and company should Rhaenys utter that famous word.

That very word that would drown you all in dragon fire.

But this was a war to be fought with Fire and Blood, you were prepared for the carnage to follow. Yet your only instinct now was to not just cling to Aemond in an effort to keep him close, but cover the innocent, sweet new (false) Queen Heleana. As the great dragon started to move, people were trying to climb their way out of the Pit - but little could be done for them now.

"Th-They're closing the doors," you called down the way when you noticed it. "The people will suffer - they're closing the doors!"

Otto heard your words over the screams of terror and tried to roar over them all, "OPEN THE DOORS!" But the doors were still closing on people trying to flee - and the Hightowers knew that Rhaenys would escape one way or another. "OPEN THE DOORS!"

Rhaenys turned from behind her to note the narrowing escape to glare at the Royals beneath her - her eyes skating over you to land on Alicent. The Queen Regent then boldly pushed from Ser Criston, giving the command, "Get Helaena," as she moved for her crowned son. Standing before Aegon the Second, Green faced the Red Queen.

Aemond turned to push you and his sister behind his body in full; standing to face the towering, growling dragon that neared the platform to leer in all your faces. You held a hand to his waist to assure him of your position whilst his hands were held in use of defense - should need be.

Though, you wondered what he could truly do against Meleys.

No words were exchanged; Alicent only bent her head in submission, but the great red-scaled dragon only gave another bellow - but no flames. Your husband's head bowed to endure the stream of hot air blown across you all, one hand holding your sister-by-law's, and the other keeping tight hold of Aemond as his body protected yours.

Yet, in the end, you all opened your eyes to spy Rhaenys spare Alicent one last scorching glare before turning her dragonmount and rushing for the still-opened doors.

There was a collective shudder across the lot of you, and Aemond turned at once to take your face in his hands. He nodded once, brows crinkling in concern; making you lay a hand over his, assuring, "I'm okay. I'm all right."

"The babe?" He asked in a hush, Alicent checking over Aegon to then rush for her daughter.

"We're both all right," you promised, hand almost slapping over his own that laid to your womb. His gaze turned back towards the doors, ushering you to his chest; both of your gazes watching the fleeing dragon that bore a vengeful, hotheaded rider... A rider who would bare your messages to your mother and inform her of the truth.

A rider who you would meet again in open battle.

[ series masterlist ]

[alex51324]

Guys, the queerness is actually historically accurate: A book report by me

I kind of thought it was, but I haven’t really studied this period, so I wasn’t sure.  But when I had to take a break from reading about gay pirates on Tumblr to go to work at the library, I figured I might as well read about gay pirates there. 

And you guys are all in luck, because I found this book:

Burg, B. R. Sodomy and the Pirate Tradition : English Sea Rovers in the Seventeenth-Century Caribbean. New York University Press, 1995. EBSCOhost.

It’s an older book, from the previous generation of queer scholars, so some of the language is not what we would use today--even when he is using contemporary-to-him language, rather than the period-accurate “sodomy” or “buggery”--but it’s full of interesting information! 

 I only had time to read the introduction and the first two chapters, but basically, his thesis is that pirate communities in the Caribbean in the late-17th to early-18th centuries were queer as fuck.  

Actual direct quote:

...among pirates in the Caribbean, where the essential features of their homosexual activity, exclusivity and the absence of constraints imposed by a more powerful and unsympathetic society, meant that buccaneer communities could evolve and mature with little or no interference from a dominant, restrictive, and sometimes hostile heterosexual nation. This opportunity to constitute and develop a community where homosexual contact was the ordinary form of sexual expression...

Behind the cut are some quotes and summaries from the first half of the book-I’ll plan on doing the same for the rest when I get around to reading it.  

The first couple of chapters are more generally about homosexuality in England in the period and about pirate career paths, so I’m expecting the remaining 3 to be even more interesting.

“Extreme hostility to homosexual acts was a relatively recent acquisition for Englishmen in the closing decades of George III's reign. {That is, the early 1800’s—Alex} Two hundred years before, in the early seventeenth century, homosexual acts were rarely  condemned by anyone. They were ignored by ordinary citizens, officers of the church, the military, and by leaders of the civil government. Later in the century, after the Civil Wars and the Interregnum, when Charles II was restored to the throne in 1660, homosexual acts and the men who committed them continued to attract little attention. Men who engaged other men for sexual purposes were found on every level of society, from the royal court, through the nobility, in the commercial classes, and on down to the sailors who manned the king's ships and the crews of the merchant fleet. For the most part, Englishmen regarded homosexual behavior as simply another sexual activity, a peculiarity to some, a matter of jest to others, a thing for public cognizance when circumstances warranted, but mostly a practice to be ignored. Even for clerics and moralists profoundly concerned with sexual transgression, homosexual activities were minor matters, no more dangerous than the heterosexual promiscuity they perceived to be corrupting the English nation.”

(Introduction, pages xxxvii-xxxviii)

“Among pirates, either aboard their ships or while living on isolated West Indian islands, homosexual acts were not integrated with or subordinated to alternate styles of sexual contact. They were the only form of sexual expression engaged in by members of the buccaneer community.”

(introduction, page xxxix)

“Although homosexual behavior was widely tolerated in late seventeenth century England and the structure of society encouraged it on several levels, such practices remained only a facet of English life and were thus subject to restriction and regulation by the larger community. This was not the case among pirates in the Caribbean, where the essential features of their homosexual activity, exclusivity and the absence of constraints imposed by a more powerful and unsympathetic society, meant that buccaneer communities could evolve and mature with little or no interference from a dominant, restrictive, and sometimes hostile heterosexual nation. This opportunity to constitute and develop a community where homosexual contact was the ordinary form of sexual expression was unusual enough, but to do it while free from persecution and opprobrium was unique, and although pirates did not indulge in conscious social experimentation, the all male society they built and sustained in the West Indies for three quarters of a century was a singular reflection of their peculiar situation.”

(Introduction, page xl)

Chapter One summary:

Opening chapter, about general attitudes toward homosexuality(sodomy) in England and its colonies at the time, reports that it was criminalized from the 13th century on, but asserts that prosecution was rare until the 19th century and that the laws do not reflect actual social attitudes.  

During the Interregnum—period of Puritan rule—prosecution was slightly more frequent, but the Puritans outlawed just about everything fun, and prosecutions also rose for things like drinking, patronizing sex workers, and adultery: basically, no evidence that homosexuality was singled out.

Morals loosened up substantially when the monarchy was restored in 1660.  In literature, the Restoration—AKA, in-show, the period when Stede and Ed came of age—is known for raunchy sex comedies.  Some of these had homosexual characters, who were typically portrayed as effeminate, and always the butt of the joke.  

TLDR: this chapter clarifies that the opening remarks—quoted above—should not be taken as indicating that mainstream society at the time was queer-positive; however, sodomy was put on the same level with other things that people considered wrong but did anyway, e.g., adultery.  

“Attitudes in the England of Charles II, as a single feature of society, would have been wholly insufficient to provide a base for the formulation of a functioning and resilient sodomitical pirate society three thousand miles away in the West Indies had it not been for a complex of interrelated social, economic, and psychological conditions. These made it possible for homosexual conduct to become virtually a normal pattern of behavior among large numbers of Englishmen and for many of these same men to transport their sexual practices to a Caribbean shipboard milieu where they became so well integrated into the total social equation that heterosexual contact became a genuinely exotic manner of sexual expression.”

(Chapter 1, p. 42)

 Chapter 2 summary:

Chapter 2 talks about the social conditions that pirates may have experienced in their pre-pirate lives.

One point potentially of interest to fic-writers is that working-class children frequently left home to work around age 7 or 8.  Burg suggests that running away from a work situation that was abusive or otherwise unsuitable was often the first step into a life of piracy or other crime. Also asserts that homosexual behavior was very common in criminal/vagrant groups, so some of these kids would have grown up in an environment were same-sex relationships were the norm.  

The other entry point to a career of piracy was working on a “legitimate” ship, either military or commercial, and gay sex was common on those, too.  (Although it was officially punishable in the English Navy, that didn’t stop anyone.)  Seafaring careers could also start at young ages, so again, pirates from that background might have come of age  in a very queer environment.  

Here is a quote that is not really about the queer aspect, but could be useful for coming up with character backstories:

“The origins and backgrounds of men who became pirates in the Caribbean during the Restoration era and the decades immediately following were comparable. The romantic notion of scions from great families being deprived of inheritances by evil brothers and scheming uncles, and then running off to recoup lost fortunes as commanders of pirate ships, has little basis in fact.  {Except for that one time--Alex} The infants who would one day reach maturity and ultimately sail as Caribbean pirates were most likely to be born to couples who belonged to Gregory King's consuming classes. They were the children of cottagers, paupers, and agricultural laborers, or their fathers might have been soldiers or sailors. They were forced into economic self sufficiency usually by the age of thirteen, working for their keep as servants or laborers. If fortunate they may have been apprenticed to a master of one of the less prestigeous and less lucrative trades. Another frequent pattern for their lives was to have been ejected from home with little training and no opportunity to acquire a marketable skill. For those in this circumstance there was some chance to find work, but there was also the opportunity to turn to petty crime, starve, or join with other lads in similar situations — runaways, fleeing apprentices, and the like — to become a member of one of the bands wandering the English roads and drifting into the nation's towns and villages….

(p. 64)

“Those youths from the lowest levels of English society who were unable to gain employment in these areas in many cases went to sea or became vagrants, gypsies, thieves, and beggars. The feature that distinguished the adolescent experience of young men gone to sea or into various types of vagrancy and illegal occupations from the experience of other English youth of the same general social levels is that the training period was not only shorter, and perhaps more demanding in some respects, but that in the years between the ages of ten and 14 or 16 when they had become adult sailors or criminals, they lived in environments populated either largely or entirely by males. Young men at sea were members of a society composed entirely of men…”

(p. 65)

[quietlyimplode]

grief is a thing with fangs.

AN: I don’t know why tumblr won’t let me post this whole thing, but its all over on ao3. This is the first half. I could do two posts but I’m lazy.

I've never written Wanda before, but this came out of a conversation over what it might be like to love someone you're scared of, which turned into what it might be like to hurt someone you admire and love and be the cause of their pain and not know what to do about it given your own grief.

(Basically something written in a day to get lots of thoughts out, so very much not reread, all mistakes are my own).

(Wanda & Nat - heavy discussion of grief and loss; gif not mine)

.

There’s a reoccurring nightmare.

.

Being in the same space as a grieving witch, an android who is more human than some men she knows, a billionaire, and a fossil is jarring.

Natasha can’t do it for more than a night at a time, and she only comes back to make sure Wanda is ok.

The others have been through this rodeo before; well perhaps not Vision, but he seems to know enough of the world, that grief is something that doesn’t just leaves you.

She’s not sure how much they talk, but she’s glad that someone has the courage to talk to Wanda; someone that’s not her, or Clint.

With Nathaniel’s birth, she’s taken to being the one that checks in more, between missions and debriefings.

It’s a responsibility she didn’t ask for, and at times, resents it.

She copes by not being there, or being where she needs to be, for the amount of time she needs to be there for.

Natasha doesn’t think Wanda notices; or, will remember in the long run.

Grief, she knows, has a way of stealing time, and people remember who sits with them in the moments they can’t sit with themselves.

.

Wanda’s space is on the same level as Natasha’s in the compound; they’re really small apartments, more luxurious than most, but there’s enough shared spaces and open plan living that they’re both encouraged to move outside their own spaces.

Natasha’s learning to cook. She tells Wanda as such, and asks her to help.

Wanda never says no.

It’s perhaps a testament to her loneliness, and need for connection that when Natasha is in the kitchen, she doesn’t have to wait long until Wanda pads in, with a shallow smile or with bags under her eyes or with a blank look that slowly dissipates as Natasha carefully pries out the thoughts and feelings of the day.

Steve complains that they don’t always cook for everyone, and Natasha calls him misogynistic in jest, Wanda staring at the confrontation as though she’s trying to figure out who to side with.

She thinks Natasha loses because they mostly cook enough for the others, but when they cook something from the old country, it’s always just for them.

She learns of Natasha’s Slavic roots like it’s a long drawn secret, small stories she tells, words she pronounces in private.

Wanda offers some of her own in return for the offerings she’s gives, and Natasha nods carefully, her presence reassuring and safe.

It’s new feelings as she can’t remember being safe in any iterations of the word, not perhaps since watching old videos with her parents.

After that; nothing, just… turmoil.

Wanda understands why, after the events in New York they all came together, stayed together.

Strucker had always said that the avengers greatest weakness was their loyalty to each other; Wanda thinks it’s perhaps also their greatest strength.

Natasha calls Clint and Laura and lets them chat to Wanda, healing her need for family as only they seem to be able.

Clint asks about Pietro, the only one brave enough to do so. He asks about his favourite colour (blue), his favourite foods (hot dogs) and when she’s sobbing on the phone drowned in memories, he quietly reassures her that Pietro won’t be forgotten.

His name lives in in those that loved him. And then, as if on cue, Nathaniel Pietro cries.

.

Red curls around Wanda, and for Natasha it feels jarring.

The Red Room played with minds just as Wanda is able, and there’s no defence against it.

It’s a fear that she pushes down, tries to see Wanda for who she really is, a scared little orphan girl, and tries not to draw parallels.

It’s just… when Wanda is feeling big emotions, Natasha feels the red deep into her body, pushing to find bonding in her own hurts that she buried long ago.

She learns to clear her mind when she’s with her, knows to be more gentle with herself. She takes Wanda’s pain because she knows someone needs to.

It works, sometimes, Natasha can see life growing around Wanda’s grief as it changes and morphs into something that isn’t as visceral.

The red doesn’t delve so deep inside, the unconsciousness of it frightening.

It’s those nights that Natasha stays away.

.

There are times that Wanda plays with her magic in ways she knows she shouldn’t.

She practices throwing it away from her, making images, projecting it across the floor to see Pietro again.

It hurts.

It always hurts.

The physical exertion that comes with the projections help her to sleep, scenes from their childhood, images of their parents; all the things she’s lost become a living memory inside her room.

Wanda sobs at the injustice.

Initially the pain is big; drowning her thoughts making her magic cocoon her in a protective shell.

She imagines it surrounding her, pushing away unwanted, hard emotions, until Vision breaks through and asks her how long she’s been staring at the wall, or sitting on the floor, stuck in a memory.

She never has an answer but he seems to understand.

His presence strangely comforting as he grounds her; drawing her into a conversation on the world, or asking her questions about living.

Wanda reminds him that she’s not the best person to ask about that.

She conjures Pietro, makes the image tell her he’s ok, the he loves her and that things are going to work themselves out.

She doesn’t always believe it, but it’s comforting.

Her magic is comforting, always with her, always a part of her.

The red surrounds her, dries her tears, and helps her understand that she’s destined for more in the world.

.

Wanda admires Natasha.

The way she talks, the way she moves, the way she can say so much with so little.

She wants Natasha to stay with her, protect her, help her and in her darker moments, hold her as she falls apart.

When they cook together, it brings a peace that Wanda craves.

When they’re following the steps, the motions, Wanda finds herself enjoying the sensory components, pushing her hands in dough, smelling sweet and sour and tasting the salt.

Natasha calls it grounding, and encourages her to do it when she’s not around.

Wanda wonders where she goes, when she’s not in the compound.

Curiosity, as they say, killed the cat. But Wanda reasons, red tendrils dancing as she dresses herself, satisfaction brought it back.

They’ve been talking about spy craft.

Practicing certain things like how to spot a tail, how to follow someone, things that might keep her safe, or the things that Natasha thinks will keep Wanda safe.

Wanda knows she can tear apart the world.

.

There’s a day where Pietro isn’t the first thing on her mind. It sends her spiralling and it’s the only thing she thinks of all day.

She gets lost in her mind and conjures him to apologise.

Clint's words come back at her, that Pietro will always live on as long as he isn’t forgotten.

She forgot him, only for a moment, but the implication weighs heavily on her.

If she could forget him for a moment, what’s stopping her forgetting him at all?

Her magic glows deep red and it’s a warning.

Wanda doesn’t want to be buried in emotions again.

She wants Natasha.

She’s the only one that seems to know how to make things better.

Natasha knows what to say, her mind always seems calm, peaceful - an oasis amongst Wanda’s own chaos.

Vision is the same, but this feeling, the perpetual grief is not something she thinks he will understand.

She releases the magic that holds around her heart allowing it to surround herself in its entirety.

Protective, she sniffs, and gets dressed to go looking for her friend.

Natasha will know what to do.

Natasha will know how to help the pain that makes her feel like she’s suffocating.

.

It’s a mistake.

.

Read More (Aka the read the rest)

All my fic

[funtimebunnyblog]

Me: *receives this request*

Me: *sips my 3rd coffee of the day from my raccoon mug in the pitch dark of my room* 

Me: My time has come...

Pillarmen (separate) with a coffee addicted, sarcastic, career focused s/o (who doesn’t get enough sleep)...

(under the cut for length!)

Kars:

"Have you eaten today?" The Pillarmen questioned you, looming over your desk in the dark of your Office.

"Yes." You answered simply, not bothering to tear your eyes from the laptop screen or the sea of words it held sitting before you. Kars however knew better than to leave it at just that, folding his arms across his chest as he cocked an eyebrow.

Kars frowned to himself as his eyes took in your workspace, trying not to focus on the fact that was littered with disorganized papers, food wrappers and a few empty mugs.

He would never let his desk degenerate into something even close to this mess.

"Alright. What did you eat?"

Kars clicked his tongue, letting out the sigh he knew he was going to make upon making the decision to check in on you in the first place. He had known very well this conversation would be steered into a direction like this.

A silence fell over the room, your the clicking of keyboard keys stalling for the briefest second before resuming.

"Coffee." Came the answer.

"Coffee is NOT a meal." He said curtly.

"I know it's not a meal, it's a vegetable." You replied without missing a single beat.

He pursed his lips, "Now what makes you say that?"

"It came from beans."

"Something to eat first, then you may finish your work. And then it's straight to bed with you." He ordered, carrying you downstairs to the kitchen. It was late and he knew that if he didn't set these boundaries you would be hunched over, typing away at your messy little desk all hours of the night.

Without another word you were picked up out of your office chair like nothing more than a common house cat and thrown over his shoulder, the massive man rolled his eyes as you whined that you had only a couple more pages to do and you were trying to finish.

He ignored your protests as much as he disregarded the sluggish pounds of your fists on his backside.

Needless to say, he didn't want a repeat of last time that happened. Coffee and redbull brew was a potent mixture he wanted to keep out of your reach from now on, no matter how tired you claimed to be.

"Ok, Mom." You bit back, finally giving up on your futile squirming for the night. You shot him your best glare as he set you down on the kitchen counter, the rings under your bleary eyes only becoming more prominent as he once again ignored your words and your stare, getting right into fixing you something quick to eat.

Kars wasn't a person to be spoken to in that way by anyone (they never usually lived long enough to get such remarks out) but you were much different of course. In fact, your sharp tongue was easily matched by his quick wit; it only made you an even stronger pair to be reckoned with in his opinion.

With only a quirk of his lips as a response to your sarcastic quip, a cookie was shoved into your mouth.

"Here. Perhaps this will sweeten up your sour, my child." He said, now fully getting on your level as he busied himself making you a sandwich.

A smile curled at the corners of your full mouth as you chewed away, your demeanor just a little lighter as sweet chocolate goodness tickled your senses. However, chocolate did little to coat the silver of your tongue.

"Bite me." You spat playfully, a few crumbs escaping your lips along with the words.

"You know better than to threaten me with a good time, dearest." Kars responded, not even lifting his eyes from the cutting board as he sliced away at a cucumber.

You nearly choked on the sweet you were savoring as you doubled over in laughter, making Kars smile to himself in triumph.

Esidisi:

"What are you doing?" Esidisi watched you with curious interest as you began to depart from the kitchen, just seconds after making your entrance, the entire pot of black coffee he had just prepared in your hand.

The steaming pot of rich and buzzing Caffeine was snatched from your grasp in a fraction of a second, you blinked to find squirming tendrils of veins spiriting it away back to your Husband.

"I'm flipping oyster burgers for the King of Spain, what does it look like?" You asked without even a thought, an impressive feat as it seemed like you were mere seconds away from falling over.

Disheveled wasn't even a word to describe your appearance. Your hair in disarray and wearing the same clothes as you had yesterday; you looked like you had been put through the ringer not once but a few times.

"Hey!" You cried, fully turning on him. It only made the smirk at the corner of his mouth grow as you advanced on him, stomping angrily as you went; inevitably you were only making yourself more adorable in his eyes. "Give that back! I need to get some work done!"

Taking the entire pot with you was the most elegant solution in your eyes rather than coming back downstairs every so often to refill your mug. You definitely needed the quantity of this pot if you wanted to stay awake any longer to complete your workload.

"Ah ah ah, not so fast little oyster flipper!" He laughed, holding the pot far out of your reach and pushing you at arms length as you attempted to make a grab for it.

Esidisi was always amused by your fiery determination when it came down to your work and the lengths you went through to get it done but he knew when enough was enough.

"What I want to know is, did you get any sleep last night?" He questioned, a bare brow raising; a look betraying his genuine concern for you in the midst of his jest.

The Pillarman was not going to let you take the pot of coffee all the way back to your office to chug like an oversized movie soda as you pushed through more piles of papers. You had been up there practically three days straight, basically just surviving on the stuff at this point.

If you weren't going to take care of yourself, he supposed he'd just have to do it for you.

"Er... uh..."

You blinked slowly, the raw stinging of your eyes didn't quite help you in forming a convincing response.

You could've swore you nodded off once, maybe twice, at your desk sometime in the middle of the night but you weren't sure for how long exactly. It probably didn't even come close to qualifying as "sleep" in terms of rest.

"Mm-hmm. That's what I thought." He hummed, putting the pot of coffee back in its rightful place. A sound of surprise managed to escape your lips as he picked you up, carrying you out of the kitchen like you were nothing more than a toddler.

"Wh-Where are we going?" You questioned, blinking stupidly and trying to recover from your slight shock.

"Hmm, not Spain. Sorry, you won't be flipping any burgers today, my little spit-fire." He responded, his tone fluid enough to rival your second-nature sarcasm.

Your lips came together, squirming in his hold as you connected the dots. "I can't go to bed! I still have woooork!" You whined, pushing against him as if that would do anything in his powerful grasp. "I'm not tired!"

"Really? Oh, you could've fooled me." He chuckled, the rumbling of his chest against yours only making sleepy shivers dance through your body.

"I just need some coffee! That's all, c'mon!"

"No more coffee for you. You drank enough to last you a fortnight, yesterday."

He was so warm and comfortable, a much better feeling than any sized mug of coffee you could guzzle down would leave you; your fidgeting had come to a complete stop without you realizing it.

"I just..." You were cut off by a yawn forcing its way out of you. "...just a few more... p-papers..."

"Not today you're not." He chided softly, a hand rubbing tender little circles into your back with heated fingers. You knew that he knew it was only making you more sleepy (not to mention more frustrated) by the second. "You're having a sleep, something proper to eat later and a shower and then you can work and drink all the coffee you want."

Just a few more papers. Just a few more papers.... Just a few more papers.... Just... a few... more...

By the time Esidisi had reached the top of the stairs, your struggle had ceased all together and you had fallen limp in his arms; completely and utterly asleep.

The litany in your head fell silent as your eyelids drooped, losing yourself in the warmth of your Husbands embrace as the swaying of his movement rocked you as he walked along.

So many cheeky things you wanted to say died like flickering embers in your brain, unable to escape your lips this time.

Wamuu:

"Beloved?" The Warrior pushed open the door to your office, peering into the dark room with a frown. "Are you in here?"

"No. I'm on the Moon." Your voice (sounding a little worn but still holding that familiar pinch of playfulness) cut through the dark, coming right from your desk where you were hunched over and drawing away; the dim light from your tablet was the only thing cutting through the shadows of your cave.

He couldn't help but notice it was the exact spot he had left you when he departed early this morning to go do some training.

Warm, golden light shrouded you and your cluttered desk area, making you blink in surprise. You hadn't really realized that it had gotten dark at all and for the briefest of seconds you wondered how late exactly it had gotten; you shook your head quickly as you regained your focus on your work.

Nonetheless, Wamuu smiled softly and entered your workspace. It was an easy feat for the Pillarman to make his way through despite the darkness cloaking the room as he had most excellent night vision.

However, upon reaching your side, he reached over and flicked on your table lamp. He knew that the dark wasn't exactly doing your Human vision much good.

"Thank you." You mumbled, swiping your digital pen across the screen with slow and careful movements.

Wamuu hummed softly, leaning over you with a curious eye to see your work better.

"That looks very nice." He commented, the corners of his full lips tugging into a sweet smile as he admired your handiwork. You never ceased to amaze him with your little drawings and sketches.

You needed to get this piece done by the weekend and you wanted it done today so it could be out of your way. Each slip up of your hand or a line only made you feel more exhausted and more picky, lines overlapped and blurred and you could no longer take in the picture anymore; just your mistakes and its flaws.

A tired sigh escaped your lips, "I just can't get the shading right. I think I've had to redo it 8 times now..." you grumbled, only getting increasingly frustrated at the setback, a hand unconsciously reaching up to scrub at your eye.

Your eyeballs were starting to burn from focusing on the screen too long, a feeling much akin to being rubbed raw with sandpaper.

"Have you been drawing all day?" He questioned, turning his gaze down to the crown of your head with worry.

The Warriors smile fell as he took in your awry state more closely, he definitely didn't miss the umpteen mugs of coffee littering your space (some of which were only half-finished and long gone cold by now).

Did you even move at all while he had been gone? When was the last time you showered? Ate? Changed your clothes?

Really it was the best answer you could give, all you knew was that it was dark and you were sore and tired and your hand was cramping... so it was more than likely you had spent the entirety of the day working.

Once again, your movements stalled before slowly regaining focus, your movements slothy and lacking your usual grace.

"I guess..." you answered lamely.

Again.

Wamuu shook his head, you had been drawing all night last night and you had promised to go to bed after he kissed you goodbye this morning. It was obvious you forgot your promise and kept working.

The drawing tablet was easily plucked from your grasp, making you jump in surprise and reflexively make a grab for it.

"Wamuu-- wha--?!"

"This won't do." He said, quickly hitting the save button on your piece of art as he pulled the tablet further from your reach. "You're done for today."

"What? No! I--" You made an attempt to snatch it back but the hulking man wasn't having any of it, gazing down at you with stern double-ringed emeralds.

For now, he was taking matters into his own hands.

"No. You've worked far too long. Look at you beloved, you've become nothing but a shell!" He chastised, walking past you and placing your tablet on the highest shelf of your office; far, far from your reach.

You would only get it back once you were rested and cared for.

He pushed open the bathroom door with careful ease, not even struggling as he held you and set you down on the toilet.

You were picked up with ease, cradled in the Warriors arms like he was rescuing you from the battlefield as he marched out of the room. Your whines and cries and pleas to be put down went ignored, even as you pounded weakly on his chest.

You had originally thought he was taking your straight to the bedroom to put you down for a sleep but no, he walked right past the room without even a passing glance.

"Sit there." He told you, pressing a tender kiss to your head; the softness of his actions rendering you silent. "Let me handle this."

Your previous protests, your frustrations and any and all thoughts to your work had died all together by the time you two had stripped and were sitting comfortably in the warm scented water.

You blinked, watching him as he puttered around the bathroom; filling the tub with warm water and adding a generous portion of your favorite bathsoap, making a luscious and soothing scent fill the air and your senses.

A warm bath together would do you both some good, he was a little rumpled from training all day himself and you were worn down from your own work. Wamuu always enjoyed washing your hair and bathing together was always a good de-stressor in his eyes.

"You're too persuasive," you remarked, the words coming out as more of a sigh as he combed his fingers through your damp hair.

You hated to admit it but this was just what you needed; you could literally feel all the stress and overwork just washing away with the water rolling over you.

Wamuu chuckled softly, squeezing some of your favourite shampoo into his huge palm. "And You're negligent of your own needs. But don't worry, that's why I'm here..."

Santana:

"You are tired."

"I'm not tired!" You groaned, the exasperation in your voice was short-lived as the corners of your lips quirked up into a teeny grin. "...I'm y/n."

Santana tilted his head, pursing his lips. Usually you would chuckle at his obvious confusion (Santana still couldn't quite grasp puns and dry humor like sarcasm well, despite it being something you used more than often) but today you were too busy to sit down and explain it, let alone spend any time with him.

You still had work to pick at upstairs and judging by how things were going, you weren't going to be done anytime soon.

It didn't help the fact that Santana was becoming increasingly worried about you; he had caught you pouring yourself a bowl of orange juice and a glass of cereal this morning when you begrudgingly trudged downstairs for breakfast. The growling of your stomach neglecting its needs had become too unbearable.

Either way; you weren't going to let the fact you haven't seen a bed (or a fresh change of clothes) in days stop you.

"I just need to get some work done, Santana..." you sighed, emptying the pot of coffee into your mug. "I have a deadline at the end of the week."

"Sleep is for the weak." You replied, bringing the steaming mug to your lips for the first sip.

"You have not slept in days." He pointed out, the deep timber of his voice rumbling around the room. You could feel his eyes staring into your back as you fumbled around the kitchen.

Damn him for being so perceptive.

"Your kind is very weak." Came the immediate and factual response. "You require sleep to function and survive."

Like it or not, he was spitting straight facts.

You nearly choked on the gulp of hot liquid, it burned in your throat as his words hit you. Your mate watched as you opened your mouth and fumbled with a response to conteract that statement; ultimately having nothing.

It was always hard to argue when you felt so sluggish, your brain running just as well as an old windows computer, let alone when Santana stood there blinking so innocently.

You groaned, shuffling out of the room; mug in hand and the migrane you had been trying to rid of slowly regaining its pounding pulse in your temples.

"Oh honey, I'll be fine..." you whined, trying to ignore his eyes still watching you as you began your slothy trek up the stairs. "I may be a 'Primitive lifeform' but I can handle a little work."

The Pillarman watched you go, frowning to himself as you disappeared up the stairs; the hard shut of the door to your office the only sound following your exit.

Your energy was very low, he had only seen you eat a handful of times and it seemed like you were running into walls and doors more often than the average Human lately.

Santana was getting worried.

The hours of the morning ticked bye, eventually Noon rolled around and then passed and you didn't come down for lunch (or more coffee). The primal instincts of protecting you as his mate inevitably kicked in and Santana found himself at the door to your office, peering in with a curious eye.

There he was met with the sight of you slumped over at your desk, your back rising and falling slowly and rhythmically. The sounds of your soft breath hit his sharp ears, even from all the way across the room, and he found himself wandering in, coming right up beside you where you lay crumpled.

You stirred slightly, making his hair stand on end as a groan barely passed your lips before you settled down again, resuming your quiet snoring.

Upon further inspection he found your eyes were closed, cheek smooshed right against the wood of the desk and papers sticking uncomfortably to your face. Even your pen was still gripped in hand.

His eyes skimmed over some loose papers, nothing but meaningless words and numbers scrawled across the white without rhyme and reason to him but always it held some deeper meaning to you; your supposed work.

Your coffee had barely been touched, gone cold and sitting quite forlorn among the foodwrappers and empty water bottles and papers scattered across your workspace. Santana reached for the mug, sniffing curiously at the coal black liquid sloshing around inside. Throughout all the time he had known you, you always had a strange attachment to this drink; you claimed it was what kept you functioning.

Curiosity got the best of him and he brought it to his lips for a taste, wondering the exact appeal of it. He shuddered, growling, almost spitting the shallow mouthful of it out and turning his head away as the bitter and cold liquid overwhelmed his senses as it slipped down his throat...

Disgusting.

He brought the mug to his mouth again, unable to stop himself as he dove in for his second taste; doing the very same thing as before.

Not bad, actually.

The red-haired Pillarman pulled the mug close a third time, throwing his head back gulping back the liquid as if his life depended on it. Licking his lips and blinking rapidly, he cradled the now empty mug to his bare chest as his nostrils flared and toes curled, riding out the waves of it overpowering his senses.

It was so terrible but so good at the same time; so good he didn't want it to end but so terrible he wished the bitter and overpowering aftertaste would leave his tongue.

He turned his attention back to you, with a tilt of his head. You were still sleeping, nonethewiser to his very presence; it was likely you would stay that way for some time.

With only a moments thought he shuffled out of the room quickly, returning just moments later with a blanket and pillow in tow.

You needed your sleep to function, as he had told you, so he would leave you to it as he went downstairs to prepare more of that delicious "coffee" for when you woke.

With all the carefulness in the world, a massive hand slipped under you, lifting your face just inches off the had desk as he slipped the cushy pillow under you and let you down softly.

Gently, he draped the blanket over your back before leaning down, smoothing your hair and pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

He planned on having another mug himself.

Or two mugs.

Or five.

Or maybe three pots worth...

[daily-dose-of-sweets]

Sweets’ Scars

Based on S4E21

Lance Sweets X Reader

Summary: You and Sweets have been in a relationship for a year now, but it isn’t until a case involving a certain metal band that you realize there might be something he’s not telling you. Something about his past. You don’t want to press, but you can’t help but worry.

Words: 3331

Warnings: Scars, and very short mention of abuse

---

As soon as you step foot into the venue, the blaring metal music floods in around you. You wince and quickly cover your ears to dull the screaming voices and screeching guitars. The music reverberates through your ribcage, pounding and ragged. Why do people listen to this kind of stuff? You can barely make out the mass of moving bodies ahead of you because of the flashing lights and flickering fires that practically blind you. It’s all so much, too much. You’ve never liked crowds, but this is a whole different level, and the urge to escape grips your chest.

You jump when a hand rests against your shoulder and you whip around only to see Doctor Brennan peering at you worriedly. “We won’t be here long,” she assures you, though she has to scream for you to hear her.

You nod, eyes darting back to the crowd of people, all covered in leather and heavy makeup. The two of you stick out like sore thumbs in your normal clothes, which was never something you thought would be possible. You huddle closer to your mentor, swallowing your nerves and twisting your fingers into your sweater.

“I’m going to call Booth!” She shouts out again.

You don’t respond this time, not that it really matters in the situation. You doubt you could get loud enough to overcome the noise.

Why did you have to come on this excursion? Why couldn’t Clark come? He was your senior after all. You had just recently started working at the Jeffersonian, and you were currently the youngest intern on the team. You figured it would be a calm job, just working with your people and maybe a few witnesses every once and a while. This...This was not what you were thinking of.

“I’m disturbed that despite my extensive training as an anthropologist, all these bands sound alike and appear to share identical belief systems and morals.” You hear Doctor Brennan shouting into her phone, to who is most likely Booth. She pauses, listening to his response before speaking up again, “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

You bite your lip nervously, eyes scanning the dark crowd again before landing on the stage, where the band ‘Zorch’ was performing. That’s why you were there, to question them about the remains.

“Are you guys ready?”

You shy away when a man comes into your space, pressing a hand to your back. With wide eyes, you look to Doctor Brennan, begging silently for help. She stares at the man with her brow furrowed, and then recognition floods her eyes.

“Sweets?”

What? You look back up at the man’s painted face, eyes narrowing as you take in his features. Then it hits you, just as quickly as it hit the anthropologist. It is Sweets! You couldn’t recognize him with the makeup and slicked back hair.

“Wait, is that really you?” You question, stepping closer to him. He casts a look down at you, lips pulling into a small smile that makes your heart stutter.

“Yeah, I had to meld to get information. What do you think?” Sweets holds his arms up, looking mighty pleased with his metal getup.

Your eyes slowly trace over his figure, and you can’t help but notice how well his sleeveless black shirt fits him, or how it shows off his arms. Heat comes rushing to your face, turning your cheeks rosy. Thank goodness the venue is so poorly lit, or else he’d probably notice. Your eyes lingers on the choker strapped around his neck. Part of you wants to grab the ring on it and drag him close for a kiss, which only serves to darken your blush.

“You look good,” you manage to squeak out before quickly turning to Doctor Brennan, completely missing the small smirk that replaces Sweet’s smile (he definitely noticed your flushed face).

“What information have you gathered?” The anthropologist asks him, completely oblivious to how flustered you just grew.

“Zorch’s lead singer is Murderbreath,” Sweets begins, gesturing to the stage just as the man blows out a puff of fire, “Look at that. Who does he think he is, the guy with the tongue from KISS?”

You laugh at the jest. You used to listen to that band, back in your rebellious teen phase that everyone goes through.

Sweets explains how the feud of the two bands has progressed, though your eyes stay focused on the band, looking for anything that might help with the case somehow. That when you notice the lead singer pull out a large knife, thrusting into the air for all to see and drawing chants from the crowd.

“Guys, he has a knife,” you worry aloud to your colleagues.

Sweets gently draws you closer to him in a somewhat subconscious way, “No, don’t worry, it’s totally fake.”

A shudder passes through you when the singer drags the blade along his throat, blood immediately dripping down his painted skin. He thrusts the crimson knife back into the air victoriously, before gripping his neck with his other hand. Blood seeps out from between his fingers, coating his gloves. You gasp when the man convulses and drops to his knees, fingers still wrapped around his throat.

“That’s...not fake,” Bones murmurs, “Murderbreath slit his own throat!”

Before you have time to even process what’s happening, you’re dashing forward, easily weaving through the throngs of fans. The screeching music fades into the background, overcome by the pounding of your pulse in your ears. The flashing lights blur together and all you can focus on is the man crumpled on the ground. The people part around you as you jump onto the stage, quickly followed by Doctor Brennan and Sweets.

You dive down next to the singer, pressing two fingers to his pulsepoint and covering his hand with your own.

“We need something to stop the bleeding,” you urge, panic swelling in your chest.

Brennan looks around quickly, “A compress, we need a compress!” Her eyes lock on Sweets before she darts up, ripping his shirt right off of him despite his complaints.

She drops back down, pressing the wadded fabric to the man’s neck. It’s only then that the music comes to a halting stop. The band goes silent, glancing between each other and towards their lead. You shake your head, lips pursed in irritation. Now they take it seriously.

“Hold this against the wound,” Brennan directs Lance before shouting into her phone, “Booth, can you call it in?” You assume his answer isn’t what she wants, because she shuts the phone with an irritated huff and begins dialing a new number.

Glancing around, you feel anger rise to replace your panic when you see how many people have their phones out to film the spectacle. Without hesitation, you jump up in front of the group, shoving some people back and blocking their cameras. Who, in their right mind, would record something like this?

“Stand back, please!” you cry out, taking a step back as the crowd pushes forward in retaliation, “Please! Get back, we need space to work! Move back!” Do these people have no respect? Or just basic decency?!

You take a glance back at your colleagues to check on what’s happening, but your eyes land on something that knocks the very breath from your lungs. Your chest tightens painfully at the sight of the scars running along Lance’s shoulders. The dancing lights glaze over them, catching on the raised skin like little criss-crossing lightning bolts. A burning sensation fills your throat, spreading to your eyes, but you blink rapidly, determined to not let it get the best of you right now. There are more important things to focus on! You turn back to the crowd, arms spread wide to keep the stage clear.

Soon enough, paramedics and police come rushing into the venue. Everything else comes as a blur. The sirens, the gurney, rushing out to the ambulance, it all swirls together in your mind like a chaotic storm. It leaves you dizzy when things calm down and Murderbreath is on his way to the hospital. You, Sweets, and Doctor Brennan are left standing outside the venue, and it’s then you notice Sweets is still shirtless.

“We need to get you a coat before you catch a cold,” you murmur worriedly, trying your hardest to shove the images of his scarred shoulders out of your mind.

“I have one in my car,” he tells you with that familiar gentle smile, but now it carries a different weight to it. Is that just you, though? Could you be overthinking this all?

You let out a heavy sigh and aggressively rub at your eyes as Sweets walks away. Why hadn’t he told you about it? You could guess the cause, not many wounds left marks like those, plus, in your field of work you are exposed to all kinds of scars. Did he not want you to know? Why wouldn’t he want you to know?

“Are you okay?”

You look over to Doctor Brennan, the heavy weight in your chest growing almost impossible as you blurt out, “Lance has scars on his back.”

“Scars? What kind of scars?” She peers at you with that perplexed expression of hers.

“Almost like he’d been…” You pause and flex your fingers to keep your nails from digging into your palms, “Like he’d been whipped. They were old.”

“Has he not talked to you about it before?”

“No, do you think that means something?”

She tilts her head, almost like a dog, not that you’d ever say that out loud, “I am not sure what you mean.”

“Well, I mean, we’ve been dating for a year now, don’t you think, I don’t know, don’t you think he would have told me something like that?” You bite down harshly on your lip, “Does he not trust me with his past?”

“It is best to not assume what Sweets might be thinking,” Doctor Brennan murmurs in that ever present, logical tone.

It’s not much, but it’s enough to placate you a little. She’s right after all. You have to gather the evidence before making any inferences. It’s possible Lance just wants to forget whatever happened to him, which you can understand. Horrible things are sometimes best left in the past. Taking a deep breath, you roll your shoulders and give your hands a good shake.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yep!” You squeak and turn back around to face Lance, who at some point snuck up behind you, “Peachy! Just fine! Is everything- Is everything okay with you? Not cold anymore?”

“I’m warming up,” he replies with a lecherous grin, “Though I could use some help.”

You can feel the heat rise to your cheeks when Sweets spreads his arms wide for a hug. The slight twinge of self consciousness doesn’t stop you from tucking in close though, fingers linking together at the small of his back.

He rests his chin on top of your head gently, “Is everything really okay?”

Of course he’d notice. You weren’t being the most subtle you guess.

“I’ll tell you about it later, okay?” You promise quietly and hide your face in his coat.

“Okay.”

“I suppose we should head back now. Booth will want to question Murderbreath if he’s well enough,” Brennan calls out to you as she heads to her car, “Will you be driving back with Sweets, (Y/n)?”

“Sure! If he’s okay with it!” You turn your eyes up to him questioningly.

“Of course.”

And just like the gentleman he is, Lance takes you back to the lab, leaving you with the promise to talk after work. You do your job with as much attention as usual, but in the back of your head, you can’t stop thinking about how on earth you're going to broach the subject.

How do you ask someone about something you probably weren’t meant to see? You know he probably won’t get angry, Lance has always been patient and oh so sweet (his name really did fit him). You just don’t want to cross any boundaries. Should you wait? Should you ask Booth about it first? No, no that’s a terrible idea, he would just get all awkward. You groan and set down the tibia you're currently looking at. It’s all so frustrating!

You���ll just have to do it. Lance always says communication is the most important part of any relationship. Even if you don’t know how to start it, you're sure he’ll know how to direct the conversation!

With that in mind, you wrap up quickly and wish Doctor Saroyan goodbye as you head out of the lab. Lance is waiting just outside for you, leaning back against his car’s hood. All the makeup from before has been cleaned off and his hair is back to its normal fluffiness.

“Well hello there handsome,” you chirp, leaning up to peck to his cheek, “Good to see you back to normal.”

Lance laughs softly, “Was it really that bad?”

You purse your lips for a second, glancing away when you think back to his outfit. The makeup was a bit much, but the rest of it…

“Oh, maybe not, huh?”

Oh gosh, are you blushing again? You quickly bury your face in his chest, which is rumbling with his laughter. How embarrassing! Could your face go just a minute without lighting up today? It felt like every second, there was something that made your cheeks flush. It’s a wonder how you haven’t just turned into a tomato yet.

“Shut up,” is all you end up grumbling, “Will you take me home now?”

“Sure.” He gives you a small squeeze, “Hop in.”

You practically dive into the passenger seat to avoid anymore discussion of your embarrassment. Knowing Lance, he’d use this to tease you for quite a while. You just hope he’ll go easy on you, especially around your colleagues. You’d probably die if he brought this up around Doctor Brennan or Doctor Saroyan. Or even Hodgins, because goodness knows how he’d make fun of you for the rest of time.

During the drive back to your apartment, Lance intertwines his fingers with yours and rests them in his lap, thumb tracing over your knuckles. It’s enough to calm the jitters vibrating in your chest. It’s like the embarrassment and anxiety over your upcoming conversation have swirled together in a chaotic rush.

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you now?” Lance breaks the silence of the car, though he keeps his voice soft.

You take a deep breath. Everything in your head has led up to this, you can do it.

“I...I saw the scars...on your back…”

His hand stiffens in yours, not much, but just enough for you to notice.

Things fall quiet for a few seconds. You watch Lance’s face nervously. His eyebrows synch down just the slightest bit and his lips press into a thin line. You can practically see him thinking the whole thing out in his head. The gears turning, the conflict, the small flash of pain. It makes your heart ache.

“We don’t have to talk about it, Lance,” you reassure him softly, “It’s okay.”

Those honey orbs glance at you before locking back on the road. You really wish you weren’t in the car right now, so that he didn’t have to split his focus like this. Whatever this is, it can’t be a light topic.

“I’m okay,” Lance finally says, “It’s okay. This is something I’ve worked through, we can, we can talk about it.”

Good, that’s good. You weren’t going to push it if he didn’t want to talk about it, but it lifts the weight in your chest to know he’s open to it.

“Can we wait until we get to your place though?”

“Of course, of course!”

You settle back into your seat, though your hand stays firmly in Sweets’. It’s a comfort to you both. The rest of the drive goes by fast, thankfully, and before you know it, you’re right outside your apartment building. Even as you walk up to your place, Lance trailing behind you, your fingers stay linked.

“Want anything to drink?” You ask as you toss your jacket on a hook and slip off your shoes.

“No, I’m fine,” he mumbles and slips into the living space.

You pace about your small kitchen in an attempt to keep yourself busy, but find nothing to do, so you slip onto the couch next to the psychologist. You sit close enough for your knee to brush his, but hopefully not close enough to crowd him.

Lance scratches the back of his neck with a sigh and starts, “So, you know how I grew up in the foster system for a bit?”

“We’ve talked about it, yeah.”

“Well,” his voice comes out a little shaky so he pauses. You scoot closer to rest a hand on his knee, to ground him. His hand covers yours and he sends you a grateful smile before starting again, “Well, when I was young, I ended up in a bad foster home, and um, and the foster dad-” another heavy pause, “-he would beat me.”

Your heart absolutely sinks at those words, at how meek he sounds now, compared to your usually self-assured, outspoken boyfriend. How could this happen to someone like him? Someone so wonderful and gentle, someone who does everything he can to help others? No wonder he never told you about it.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Lance,” you murmur in a gentle tone.

He draws his shoulders back a bit with a deep breath. It’s like he’s letting the weight slowly slip from them as he leans back into the couch. You watch his face as it subtly shifts through several emotions, someone bad, some good, some just thoughtful. Eventually, he raises an arm, a silent signal for you, to which you curl into his side. His fingers trace along your arm before settling on your elbow and giving it a small squeeze.

“Don’t be sorry. I wouldn’t be who I am today if I didn’t go through that,” he reminisces, voice still quiet, “I might not have joined the FBI, might not have...met you.”

You look up at him, touched yet worried at the same time.

“I might not have had the best childhood, but I’m living a good life now. If I can stop it from happening to someone else, then it’s all been worth it,” he says, the brightest, most genuine smile lighting up his lips.

The awe that hits you almost sucks the breath from your lungs. You can’t help but just sit there and stare up at Sweets adoringly. It’s like his heart is made of pure gold, something that can’t be touched or soiled by the hardships of his past. He’s your greatest treasure, holding more value to you than anything you could ever hold, touch, even be near. He’s...absolutely amazing.

“I love you, Lance.” You can’t help it when the words slip off your tongue.

Those eyes are once again set on you, swimming with unbridled content, peace. They sweep you away into their depths, and all you can do is to wrap your arms around him to keep yourself anchored. He pulls you close, lips pressing oh so softly against your forehead.

“I love you too, (Y/n).”

*Bonus*

“You want me to wear it again?”

“Maybe…”

“Really?” His tone comes out teasing, eyebrow perched high as he gazes down at you.

“You’re so mean,” you huff, not even bothering to hide your blush this time.

Lance only laughs and bows down to press his lips to yours briefly, though it’s enough to set your heart racing.

“I’ll go change now, if you’d like,” he hums, throwing you a little wink as he steps out of the room.

“Jerk,” you grumble under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

I hope you enjoyed this story! It was a tad longer than usual, but it’s something I’ve been wanting to write for a while! This is one of my favorite episodes :)

As always, if you have any requests, don’t be afraid to ask! I’ll write for Sweets, Aubrey, and most of the interns! Love y’all!

[mattzerella-sticks]

“is scamming gay rights?” - Dean & Jack, DeanCas, Bi!Dean (ao3)

Jack tries teaching Dean about his latest obsession, TikTok, except a breakdown in communication teaches Dean that, sometimes, acronyms can mean more than one thing.

           Dean didn’t understand exactly what Jack rambled on about, but he passed the point of no return a few minutes back and couldn’t interrupt without revealing he had no clue what the younger boy prattled on and on about. As it was Jack currently kept pushing his phone in Dean’s face, gesturing at it and shaking it every ten seconds or so. Dean glanced between Jack and it; each time he did there was a new video on screen and by the time he shifted his focus back to his son the lecture had moved elsewhere along a road he had trouble following. By then, he let himself sink into the comfortable numbing cadence of Jack’s speech, sipping at his beer, surfacing only when he recognized a word before diving back under.

           His ears perked in familiarity as Jack used an acronym Dean recently learned, and so he tuned back in. Jack drew the phone closer to his side of the kitchen table, tapping on it. “There was this big problem with mlms actually, and even though I filtered my home page to avoid profiles like that, they kept popping up,” he said, “Luckily TikTok went ahead and basically blacklisted and deleted all mlm content. Now, I rarely see any of those kinds of content.”

           Dean’s features shuddered, mouth dropping slightly in fright. His ears echoed with the awful drumming of his heart, and a painful wheeze tickled his throat, demanding freedom. He released it on a sigh, slightly curling in on himself. “W-what?” he asked, “You… you didn’t like it?”

           Jack shrugged, “I mean, it was kind of annoying, but I learned to ignore them. When I learned how harmful the content was, however, I was very glad to hear that TikTok went ahead and took some sort of action – Hey!”

           On autopilot, Dean snatched the phone out of Jack’s hands. He slammed it, hard, on the table between them. Dean pointed a harsh finger towards Jack, snarling his next few words. “I don’t want to ever hear you talk like that again.”

           “What?”

           “Or!” he added, fist hammering Jack’s phone further into the wood, “use this, this damned app – if this is what it turns you into!” He huffed, hands retreating to steeple at his chin. “You think you’re raising a kid right… raising a kid to be accepting despite being so close to the Bible Belt… and one dumb app undoes all that hard work.”

           Jack, frozen in his seat, stared at Dean with concern shining in his comically wide eyes. “What are you talking about, Dean?”

           “Look,” Dean said instead, his finger extending once more to point at the younger boy. It was a less accusatory gesture, softened by the gentle tone Dean adopted. “I know I haven’t been the best role model with… with that kind of stuff. Hell of a lot better than my dad was, though… still not the best. But I’ve been getting better, especially after I…” His words bottlenecked on his tongue, and through great effort did Dean spit them out. “After I admitted my own attraction to… to men, especially one man in particular…” Dean’s head felt like it might erupt, magma-like blood swelling his brain to dangerous sizes. “Cas.”

           “Yes, Dean,” Jack nodded, “I know that. I’m… I’m confused what any of that has to do with this?”

           “What it has to do with…? Jack…” Dean pinched his brow, tense shoulders collapsing as the strain became too much, muscles snapping like bridge cables. “I might not be the most… the most out, or the most proud, okay? But I’m trying. Remember that bi flag pin I wore during that hunt one time? That was me… trying. And I’ll keep trying, because this isn’t something I’m ashamed of.” He reached for Jack, ensnaring his wrist to make sure his message was well received. “So you see, being gay isn’t – it’s not annoying. It shouldn’t be hidden, or… banned and it certainly isn’t harmful despite what some repressed shitheads might think.” Emboldened, Dean levelled a disappointing glare at Jack. His lower lip jutted out in fatherly disapproval. “And I’d rather be staked on some piece of rusty rebar than let a stupid app make you homophobic. No more… Ticking-tock. Period.”

           While Jack might not appreciate Dean’s ultimatum now, he will later on in his life. Dean imagined a future where he and Jack, much older than they were in this moment, sat on a porch swing talking about how good a job Dean did raising him to be a decent human being, as Jack’s partner, whose features he couldn’t distinguish from such a distance in their front yard, played with their son, named for the man who set Jack on the right path, obviously. He was knocked out of this fantasy, unfortunately, by the lumbering footsteps of his oafish brother.

           Sam entered the kitchen, Cas at his side with a tome held open in his hands. Their conversation withered as they took in the scene they walked in on. “Hey,” Sam said, shuffling his way to them, “what’s going on?”

           Dean opened his mouth, about to explain that he was dishing some serious parental law and wisdom. Except Jack hurriedly interrupted, rushing to speak first. “I have no idea,” he told them, “I was explaining TikTok to Dean, and suddenly he starts ranting about how it’s a homophobic platform?”

           “Because it is!” Dean argued. He grabbed Jack’s phone, waving it at the others. “Jack told me that they’ve gone full Russia – banning mlms and… and it was brainwashing him, making him hate gay people!”

           “Dean! I don’t hate gay people –“

           “Because I acted before any of the damage actually managed to take root,” he said, “If you used this any longer you would’ve had more harsh things to say about mlms than they’re annoying.”

           Jack groaned, scrubbing his face with twitching fingers. “They are annoying!”

           Dean gestured at Jack, asking with exaggerated brows and frown lines, what they should do about Jack’s denigration. Sam, for his part, seemed unbothered by Jack’s callous attitude. “I mean,” he shrugged, “Jack’s not wrong. Mlms are… pretty annoying.”

           Betrayed, Dean staggered to his feet. He faltered visibly, enough that Cas rushed over, dropping the yellowed book he held, and offered a hand. Dean accepted it, leaning on his boyfriend’s shoulder. The touch on the small of his back renewed his strength. “Sam,” he muttered, voice cracking, “how could you say that?”

           Sam mirrored the confusion noticeably present in Jack’s features. “Dean, why are you taking this so personally?”

           “Because, apparently,” Dean shouted at him, “you find me annoying!”

           “No more than I usually do,” Sam told Dean, “But that’s never bothered you before?”

           “Well, it’s pretty hard staying fucking unbothered when you think my sexuality is annoying.”

           “What?” Suddenly, something flashed behind Sam’s eyes, and the fog of bewilderment dissipated as pure rays of understanding shone from his smug expression and annoyingly struck Dean in the face. “Dean,” Sam sighed, “you… we’re not talking about gay people.”

           Dean snorted, “Of course you are. I’m not stupid.” Sam’s bitchy expression disagreed. “I’m hip, Sam. I know the lingo – better than you would, anyway… ‘ally’. Mlm… men loving men… What else could it be?”

           “Mlm is an acronym for multi-level marketing, Dean,” Sam explained, “that’s the kind of mlm we’ve been talking about this entire time.”

           “What?” Dean’s gaze bounced around the room, from Sam to Jack, then Cas, finally returning to Sam. “No, but I… the Internet, mlm is… it stands for…”

           “Things can have more than one meaning,” Cas supplied, appearing pained as he spoke, “especially acronyms.” He pressed a consolatory kiss upon Dean’s cheek, touch sparking a flame on his already burning skin. “It was nice to see how outspoken you’ve become, though.”

           “Yeah,” Sam agreed, “Like a modern-day Harvey Milk.”

           Dean refused to comment on Sam’s teasing, sinking into his seat again while his mind processed this new information. Cas joined him, continually rubbing soothing circles into his back. Sam sat next to Jack, across from them. Jack, sullenly tracing the cracks Dean made in his phone screen, asked, “Does this mean I’m not banned from TikTok?”

           “I just don’t get it,” Dean said, ignoring Jack’s question, “why would something that sounds boring like multi-level marketing even deserve its own acronym, let alone be banned from a whole app.”

           “Because it’s bad, Dean,” Sam explained, “multi-level marketing is, like, an evolved pyramid scheme, made more prevalent because of how easily social media disseminates misinformation and reaches impressionable people. Companies like TikTok are doing what they can to try and curb all these kinds of scams because, well… they’re annoying.”

           Adamant, Dean scowled and shook his head. “Mlm meaning that is what’s annoying.”

           “Too bad, Dean,” Sam said, “that’s probably the universally accepted meaning for it.”

           “No!” Dean said, “No, mlm is about gay people. It doesn’t have anything to do with scams.”

           Cas scoffed at Dean’s side, mumbling, “But what if scamming people is gay rights?”

           It was ridiculous, made in jest, and held no actual weight in a discussion, but Dean latched onto the throwaway line like it were the last life preserver on the Titanic. “You know what, Cas, you’re right!” he crowed, “Scamming is gay rights.”

           “It is?”

           “It should be,” Dean said, “I mean, do you know the number of times in my life I’ve scammed bigoted jerks for all they had? Scamming definitely feels like something that’s for gays only.”

           Sam rubbed his temples, battling an incoming migraine. “I don’t know why, but that take feels homophobic.”

           “Hush, Sam,” Cas told the other man, “I want to see where Dean goes with this.”

           Jack nodded, camera eclipsing his features. “Just let me hit record first, Dean. This could go viral.”

           Dean waited for the signal from Jack, a small thumbs up, and then he cleared his throat. “Okay, so here’s why scamming is a right for the gays and the gays alone…”

[knjoodles]

learn to love; jungkook | 04

pairing: teacher!jungkook x singleparent!reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 3.5K

summary: raising your daughter alone while simultaneously watching your ex-husband live the life of his dreams away from the two of you hurts. badly. it hurts a little less, though, when you find an unlikely friend while looking for help.

lowercase intended.

psst! this chapter is a game-changer AND has a character named after one of my followers! i hope she sees it and enjoys it. 💞

01 | 02 | 03 

   your alarm clock woke you, it’s piercing siren startling your eyes wide. groaning and fluttering your eyes to adjust to the sudden morning rays warming your somnolent face, you glared at the flashing red numbers across from you, reading a proud eight a.m. “fuck,” you mumbled, sinking your head into your pillow. your head pounded sparingly as you buried your head further, your attempt at drowning out the gentle pain failing.

    what had happened last night? nothing devastating. you're not one to irrationally act out; you always think about seyoung first. the last thing you can recall is throwing your shoes off and bag to the floor and essentially passing out on your bed after attending a team dinner. your days never seem to end, it just feels as though you have small pockets of time to breathe in between your busy schedule. when your five-minute break is up, though, it's back to work.

    you slowly arose from your cozy, welcoming bed and stared at the pillow sitting next to you, one that you'd clung to all night judging from its evident crumpled form in comparison to the other pillows sprawled across your bed. ouch. it sits where hoseok would lay.

    shaking your head to ensure you wouldn't have any regressive thoughts at eight in the morning, you pulled your comforter back, swinging your legs across the bed and perching comfortably on its edge. gazing at your feet, you sighed quietly, thanking the heavens it was saturday but dually cursing it for your support group session being today. you hadn't told anyone about it, not even sooyoung. this was for you, and you alone. you trudged from your bed to the master bathroom, scrubbing your teeth.

   it was at this moment that the sweet aroma of a saturday morning breakfast wafted from your kitchen to your bedroom. you inhaled it peacefully, the fragrance calming you and clearing your mind. you finally left your bedroom, shuffling towards your kitchen and living room. you silently apologized to the heavens for scolding it about the support group and thanked it once more, being reminded that you wouldn't know what to do half the time without sooyoung.

    "morning!" a voice sang from your kitchen. "i see the zombie finally decided to rise from sleep?" it chuckled, the sound of what seemed like waffles sizzling. your stomach growled at the thought of biting into one and you returned sooyoung's laugh, the patter of your daughter's feet against the tiled floor growing louder as she ran towards you. "seyoung, be careful! i don't want you slipping!"

    "it's okay, sooyoung auntie!" your daughter assured, her smaller frame finally finding you. "mom!" she giggled excitedly as she wrapped her arms around your waist, tugging affectionately. "you're finally awake!" she moaned, pulling on your large cotton shirt. "you know, i thought you died! so i called sooyoung auntie, and she told me you were alive. but i didn't believe her, so i asked her to prove it! and she told me she couldn't prove it this early in the morning. it wasn't even that early!"

    "seyoung-ah, what part of four in the morning isn't early to you?" sooyoung complained, her voice ringing through your home, body still not in view. peeking her head past a pillar separating the three of you, she scowled, annoyed, slapping another waffle onto a stack on a plate. "i was busy dreaming my dreams and this little one wakes me from my beauty sleep! at four in the morning! seyoung, if i didn't love you so much, who knows what i'd do!" she groaned. you and your daughter chuckled in unison, her small hand dragging you to the table to sit with her and sooyoung.

    "this is the first time i've made blueberry waffles, so don't expect a master chef level plate," sooyoung grinned as she placed the large pile of waffles in the middle of the table. "seyoung was okay with normal waffles up until she spotted the blueberries in the fridge. after that, she wouldn't stop tormenting me to add them in!" she joked, sitting down across from you.

    "torment?!" seyoung squealed, eyes wide, a smile cracking across her cheeks. "all i wanted was some pancakes, auntie!" she pat the table playfully, sooyoung pinching her cheek lovingly. "and, you said yes!"

    "and, i said yes," sooyoung repeated, looking over at you. "you both know i can't say no to seyoung! it's like refusing to eat a feast in front of you after you haven't eaten for days. what do you expect me to do? starve?" she jested, earning an eye roll and a grin from you. no one failed to make you laugh like your very dramatic sooyoung.

    "yeah, yeah." you bantered, serving yourself two warm pancakes. "gosh, sooyoung, these smell incredible," you gushed as you cut a piece swiftly, wanting to savor it immediately. it instantly melted in your mouth, the flavor of the warm fruit bursting into your mouth. you smiled brightly, chewing vigorously and holding up a cheerful thumbs-up. your daughter did the same, earning a giggle from sooyoung as she studied the two of you.

    "you guys look exactly alike," she murmured as she took a portion of waffle into her mouth, nibbling contentedly. swallowing, she continued, "just the same. it's like someone copy-paste in real life."

    seyoung turned to you, her face crinkled into a joyous grin. she placed her petite hand on top of yours, squeezing it tenderly. "i'm pretty, just like her! my mom is the prettiest lady in the world."

    "that she is!" sooyoung chimed in agreement, pointing her fork with a half-eaten chunk of waffle on it at seyoung. "no one can compare, except for me. i humbly accept second place, madam (y/n)." she bowed teasingly.

    "no, seyoung, you're the prettiest! and what about yebin? she's pretty too, right?" as much as you hated mentioning yebin, you knew you had to encourage seyoung to form a relationship with her 'step-mom'. you had to be the bigger person and you have to ignore the urge to scream at her every time you see her face. that's what being an adult is. hiding your feelings and pretending that you're generally okay.

    "eh," seyoung dragged, filling her mouth with a large piece of waffle. "not as pretty as you," she assured between chews. "yebin's scary when she takes off her makeup." her unintentional attack on yebin prompted sooyoung to sputter in amusement, bursting into laughter.

    "you're even starting to talk like your mom!" sooyoung exclaimed, resting her head on the table to mask her cackling. "i can't," she gasped, throwing her head back and covering her mouth. "you guys are getting more and more alike every day!"

    you smiled at your excited daughter, who was now drawing a large smiley face using maple syrup on her plate. admiring your best friend cackling in front of you and your daughter being undeniably herself, you sat contempt, knowing life was good for the time being.

    "next time?" sooyoung started as she slipped on her shoes, her purse dangling from her shoulder. "call me. if you ever need an extra hand around here, i'll come as soon as i can. promise you'll call?"

    "promise." you reassured, nodding politely. seyoung hovered behind you waving to her beloved aunt as she departed. "thanks for the breakfast and lunch, soo. you know i couldn't have done it without you." you dart your head around to spot your daughter, finding her peering behind your leg. "seyoung, say bye to sooyoung!"

    "bye, sooyoung auntie! come back soon! i want to make chocolate pancakes next!" seyoung called as sooyoung walked to her uber. "please come back!" seyoung repeated hesitantly, "i won't wake you up early again!"

    "good." sooyoung nodded, climbing into the passenger seat. "i'll see you monday, (y/n)! enjoy your weekend." sooyoung closed the door of the car and the uber sped off, you and your daughter lingering in your front lawn until she was out of sight.

    "what are we gonna do today, mommy?" seyoung turned to you, eyes full of curiosity.

    "well, i wanted to keep it a surprise, but i may or may not have scheduled a sleepover for you and ailee!" you exclaimed, grabbing your daughter's hands excitedly.

    "a sleepover?!" she squeaked, ecstatic as ever. "a sleepover with ailee!" seyoung jumped up and down, her pigtails swaying. "thank you, mommy, thank you!" she followed you inside, slipping off her sandals. you glanced at the clock, noting that it was currently around two o'clock.

    "ailee's mom expects us at four, so go and get ready! i'll drop you off." you smiled, leading her towards her bathroom.

    "you're not staying? even for a little bit?" seyoung turned, pouting. "why? are you not friends with ailee's mom?"

    "no, no, ailee's mom and i are still friends! mommy just has a lot of work to do." you reasoned, crouching down to eye-level with your daughter. "i wish i could stay, baby, but duty calls!"

    "okay," she replied half-dejectedly, waddling into her room to fetch her clothes to shower. you felt relieved your daughter hadn't tried to pry. you were just getting help for the two of you.

    seyoung, excited as ever to finally have reached ailee's house, practically leaped out of her car seat and beelined towards the door. you dashed after her, finding it difficult to keep track of locking your car and your wild daughter all at once. "seyoung-ah!" you called sternly, making her almost immediately stop and apologize profusely. after assuring her that she didn't make any large mistake, you took her by the hand and led her to the front door, making sure she walked confidently next to you — a tip you'd read in a parenting journal.

    the door swung open as excited squeals sounded from either side, ailee and seyoung basically grabbing each other to hug tightly. chuckling at the two running off to play, seyoung's backpack still in your hand, you glanced at ailee's mother, mai. "they're really excited, huh?" she exclaimed, watching them clamber up the stairs. "here, let me take that," she offered.

    "of course!" you replied, placing the bag in her hand. "i can't thank you enough for taking seyoung in today. i would've called her nanny, but today was so busy, and —"

    "it's no issue," mai interrupted, smiling assuringly. "we all know how hard you work. and after you alone juggled both of our kids after my husband's accident, well," she turned, making sure your kids weren't there. "it's the least i could do. do you want to come in? i can get some coffee going,"

    "i'd love to, but i can't," you explained. "i've got a meeting of sorts to get to soon. i'll pick seyoung up around ten tomorrow?" you asked, adjusting the sleeve of your sweater.

    "that works perfectly. call me if there's anything important!" she called, waving to you as you departed towards your car.

    "likewise!" you responded, waving politely and climbing into your car, waiting until their front door shut. why did you always find yourself on the verge of losing it in this exact position? in front of mai's house, in your car, right in front of the wheel. and, mimicking the way you always react to these situations, you rubbed the leather of your steering wheel, stopping yourself from resting your forehead against the horn and letting it ring until you felt satisfied. it was time to go to that potential shitshow of a support group, and you didn't know how to feel. pain? fear?

    you thought your divorce from hoseok would be the worst you've ever felt. and granted, it partially was, but at least you were sure of yourself. sure that you didn't want anything to do with this anymore, regardless of how much you loved him. but now? you didn't even know if you wanted this. the worst feeling to you was clear now; it was uncertainty, because uncertainty can corrode you and all your confidence in ways nothing else can.

    and, again mimicking the way you always react to these situations, you pressed the gas and drove, preparing yourself for both the worst and the best.

    the community center was cold. that was your first thought.

    dozens of people filed into the large auditorium, all trying to catch a glimpse of the one directory they offered to guide attendees to their respective support groups. after standing on your toes for what felt like hours, you finally read, 'divorcees and widow(er)s support group, room 613'. you found your place to go, but did you really want to walk into that room?

    there that uncertainty went again, eating away at your confidence like a parasite.

    you have to go, you reasoned to yourself it's not just for you, it's for seyoung. she'll catch on to what's going on eventually, you can't let her see you weak! with the reminder of seyoung fresh in your mind, you took the elevator to the sixth floor and searched thoroughly for room 613.

    "excuse me?" a voice asked from behind you, startling you. "are you lost? 'cause i am, too."

    you snorted at their comment, turning around to face them fully. a tall, muscular man stood in front of you, voice deep, hair slicked back handsomely. "oh," you muttered, stepping back to make eye contact more comfortably. "yeah, you could say i'm lost," you nodded, darting your head to either side of the hallway. "i'm looking for room 613. do you know where that is?"

    "613? i'm headed there myself," he replied awkwardly. the two of you stood together silently, both not knowing what to say in panicked silence. "i, uh, i'm park chanyeol." he introduced himself bluntly, offering his hand.

    hesitating, you finally took his hand, shaking it firmly, the way you do with customers or partners. "i'm (y/n) (l/n)." you responded.

    "(y/n) (l/n)," he repeated, looking towards the ceiling. "that sounds familiar, do i know you?"

    you cringed internally. one of the reasons you became a producer was to avoid being recognized in public, to avoid the constant attention, to avoid the all-eyes-on-you treatment artists are forced to undergo. so, as a result, when someone does recognize your name, you get a sudden urge to become a hermit. "long story short, i'm a producer."

    "ah, i see." chanyeol replied, hearing the hint of apprehension in your voice. "well, (y/n) (l/n), we're in the same boat, so let's find the room together." thankful he understood your tone, you set off with chanyeol, trekking across the hallway to find the infamous room 613. to your annoyance and surprise, the room seemed to be hidden away from the rest of the hallway, and out of numerical order.

    chanyeol opened the door for you and let the both of you in. room 613 was larger than what you expected; the room seemed to be at least three times as big as the other rooms, with many people filling up seats and talking amongst themselves. you didn't expect this many people to ever show up to a support group, but you stood corrected. not knowing where to go, you glanced at chanyeol, who motioned for the two of you to head over to the tables supervisors had set up, which were lined with water and general snacks.

    pouring two plastic cups of water for the both of you, you looked again at chanyeol, who was tapping his foot on the floor, glancing at the clock restlessly. "hey," you started, immediately getting his full attention. "tell me about yourself, chanyeol."

        a small silence between the two of you.

    "but, only if you're comfortable!" you stammered, hoping, praying that you didn't push any buttons within the first hour of meeting someone.

    he laughed at your uneasiness, dimples revealing themselves. "it's no big deal. uh, my wife and i recently divorced after i caught her cheating on me. is this it? is this the sharing thing they wanted us to do?"

    you chuckled, amused. "yeah, i think it is. and, it's a small world; the exact thing happened to me, but with my husband. do you have any kids? i have a daughter."

    "thankfully no," chanyeol answered, now visibly more comfortable. "we were planning on it, but that was before she cheated on me,"

    you nodded, understanding where he's coming from. you never told hoseok, but you'd always wanted to have a son with him alongside seyoung. and, like chanyeol, you never got there because of someone else's mistake. "i'm sorry you had to go through that." you sympathized.

    "i just need this to finally get over everything. i'm sorry you had to go through that too, especially because you have a daughter," he stated, caressing the back of his neck. "hey, if you can do it, so can i, right?"

    "yeah. and if you can do it, so can i." you repeated, smiling at him. the two of you shared a laugh at your new paired saying as the facilitator called everyone to the circle of chairs in the middle of the room, asking everyone to take a seat. you and chanyeol sat side-by-side, the both of you somewhat relieved that you weren't in this completely alone. at least there was someone who gets how you're feeling and just how painful it can be.

    "hi, everyone!" the facilitator's voice echoed through the room, loud, clear, and confident. "my name is lee chaerin, and i'll be the 'leader', if you will, of today's support group! a reminder, in case some of you are unsure, this is the divorcee, widow, and widower support group. if you're in the wrong room, please consult the new directory outside!" she announced. as a few people shuffled quietly out of the room to find their place elsewhere, she clasped her hands together. "again, my name is lee chaerin. i'm a trained psychologist and have been studying psychology for nearly twelve years at this point. cool, huh? my hope for this support group is that i help all of you heal, even if it's just a little. i want to make sure that all of you are okay, and can help each other while helping yourself!" she rested her hands on her hips and smiled, sighing contentedly. "i know that no one really wants to do this, but it's important. let's all go around the room and introduce ourselves, what we do, what happened, and what you hope to gain from this support group! after this, we'll split into groups to share our in detail stories and learn from each other. sounds like a plan? great."

    that type of introduction was a nightmare in reality. ever since you were ten you despised introducing yourself that way, and today, once married with a daughter, you feel the same way. some things never change.

    you weren't allowed to reach for your phone for the next two hours. they say that phones ruin the human experience because they allow an escape from awkward or undesirable situations. whoever 'they' are, they sure as hell are right.

    you tried your best to pay attention to everyone's name and goals for the group. you wanted to, but with the number of people surrounding you and how much was on your mind, it was tiring to listen past their occupation.

    "hi everyone, i'm youngjae," the conventional 'hi, youngjae' sounded from the group in a monotone state, defining the core of everyone's mood at this point of the support group. "i'm a songwriter for jyp entertainment, and my goal is to heal so i can focus on my job. my wife and i divorced after some internal issues." youngjae motioned to the man sitting next to him, nodding in his direction.

    not that you'd know, though. you were staring at your feet.

    "hi, everyone, my name is jeon jungkook." a man's voice stated, making your head shoot up from the ground. the sudden movement made his eyes dart towards yours, and the two of you sat frozen, only seeing each other, eyes locked. "i'm a teacher, and my goal is to stop thinking about her every day so i can move on." his voice became audibly quieter, but it didn't matter. the room was dead silent, anyway.

    you couldn't even hold your mouth open. your jaw and chest tightened. you didn't expect him to be here.

    you broke eye contact to eye his hands, his index finger and thumb of his right hand seemingly toying with a ring that was no longer there.

    a ring that was no longer there.

    your eyes met again. the air was tense and suffocating; the panic that filled only the two of you created an atmosphere only you and jungkook could feel.

    he broke eye contact, his glance now on his lap. his voice now barely a whisper, he spoke, still loud enough for you to hear. "i lost my wife in a car accident about a year ago. she was hit by a truck while she was coming home to me."

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[bucksboobs]

A Case of Mistaken Identity

Description: a quick Reed900 fic based loosely on a story from my parents wedding. A Continuation on the fanfilm Detroit: Evolution

Read on AO3

Gavin Reed is a softie under exactly two conditions: with Nines, when they're alone. He gave him the nickname Nines when they were alone together. He told him that he'd been calling him Nines internally for weeks before that when they were alone on Valentine's. It's not really him to do that PDA shit but the private displays of affection? He's getting used to those. Blame it on those stupid hands of Nine's that start glowing when he's being mushy. Nine's skin turns back to plastic whenever he so much as thinks about holding Gavin's hand and the poor hunk of metal is so sweet and sincere that Gavin just grabs him whenever he starts seeing that glow. It's stupid and it's sappy but it's starting to just become another natural part of his insane fucking life with the tin can.

Tina says he stares at Nines like he can't compute how Nines cares so much about him. He can feel that this morning, having walked into the break room first thing only to find Nines already there, brewing him his morning coffee. He wants to kiss him then and there. There's no one else in the break room and even if he risks ridicule if they get caught something in him says fuck it.

"Morning plastic." He greets, wrapping his arms around Nines's black jacket from behind. "Love ya but you don't have to make me coffee every fucking morning." He kisses Nines's neck expecting maybe a no Gavin I much prefer you be sated with your daily caffeine intake or Gavin I don't do this out of a sense of obligation but rather because I want to. Instead he gets:

"Detective Reed" That's not his Cyber-life-partner's voice. It's too formal, too cheery, too high, too much like... oh no "I am Connor."

Time to panic. "Uh. OK... Connor we're just gonna." He throws his hands up and off of Connor and begins to back away towards the archway. "Never, ever mention this alright. Nev-oof" he hits something too soft to be a pillar and too hard to be person and if Connor is in front of him. Fuck.

"Ah," despite the circumstances his shoulders do briefly untense just hearing Nines's soothing flat tone. "Good morning Gavin, I was about to make you your morning coffee." He walks around Gavin. "Connor. Good to see you and Lieutenant Anderson made it safely back from New York."

"We made it in late last night. I believed Hank may be in need of caffeine to deal with jet lag."

"Sensible." Listening to them talk is insane. They both were designed with the same word bank and vocal emulator or whatever but Connor is all subtle positivity and pleasantry while Nines talks soft and stern with a smidge of sarcasm that he picked up from Gavin.

"May I ask a personal question, MK900?" Fullnamed... this ought to be good.

"Of course."

"Do you see me as a brother?"

"We are made to be identical but there are other Connors out there." Other Connors? More of those customer-service-voice Ken dolls? God help the police departments saddled with them. "I suppose I see you as closer to myself than them on account of our shared workplace."

"Then, brother, may I ask when you were going to tell me about the evolution of your relationship to Detective Reed?" This plastic prick.

Nines looks genuinely shocked by that. "I was going to tell you today, actually. How did you find out?"

"Just now, when Gavin kissed me on the neck"

"You Kevlar-plated asshole." Gavin suddenly blurts out after staying silent for what was probably a weird amount of time. What part of NEVER mention it didn't he get. "I SAID-"

"Detective I assumed you were being sarcastic. My apologies."

"Brown nosing asswipe! First of all this is none of y-

"GAVIN." Nines stares him down a moment and Gavin feels a level of remorse. "It's quite alright. Like I said I was planning to tell Connor today anyway."

"Right. Sorry."

"I should go. Hank's coffee is getting cold." That's a lie to get out of an awkward situation if he ever heard one but they part themselves to let Connor through anyway. When did they end up standing closer together again? They seemed to have forgotten the concept of personal space a while ago and just drifted into each other's orbit naturally and unconsciously.

"Gavin..." Nines trails off, focusing on pouring and preparing his partners coffee

"Look Nines. I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to-"

"If you don't want anyone else to know we're together I can accommodate that but I need to know." Nines looks like some one killed a puppy in front of him and it's making Gavin feel more and more like a trash boyfriend. "You can't just... throw a tantrum at a coworker like that." Always so sincere. It scares him how vulnerable they both can be around one another. But feelings shit is something he's working on with Nines and he wants to make that effort.

"No Nines, man, it has nothing to with us" he gestures between them "I was just embarrassed that I basically just sexually harrassed your twin brother. Tell whoever you want. Tell the News.. Tell Fowler. I want people to know you're making me happy." Nines hands him his finished coffee. He ought to start bringing therium sippy cups or something to return this ritual of a favor. Problem for another day tho. He flicks his wrist and begins to walk into the hall.

"I appreciate that Gavin." Nines says, following in lock step with an identical gait to his own, a neat trick that Gavin noticed a while back. He wonders if it's programmed or a deliberate choice Nines has made.

"Hey," Gavin catches Nines's hand and it starts to glow (Nines is such a sap) "I mean it Robocop. You make me better. And happier. Think you're the only person on the fucking planet who can manage to do both."

"Is that so?" A sudden smarmy grin lights up Nines's face "Because apparently any old MK model will do."

"Oh, stop." I am never gonna live this down, he thinks.

"Perhaps I should introduce you to Markus." That smirk drives Gavin nuts in a way that makes his heart beat out of his chest.

"I fuckin hate you."

"You love me." Nines says it not as a jest but as a statement of fact. It simply is. Gavin loves him more than he loves himself most days -not that that's a high bar to clear- Still it touches him that Nines knows he loves him and he wants to make sure he never forgets.

"Yeah. Yeah I do, Nines." And he kisses him. In the middle of the station. Cuz fuck it.

[comradesummers]

Top 5 books or anything I should read

Hi, thanks for asking!

I’m an English major, so I can’t remember the last time I read a book that wasn’t for class. But I’ll try to recall what it was like to read books solely for pleasure. Also, I’m not going to be ranking the books because I don’t want to and I’m going to have 6 books instead of 5 because I feel like it. (Fair warning: I could write a lengthy content warning for every single one of these books, so if you’re worried about that sort of thing, I do recommend you look them up before you read them. You’re also welcome to ask me about it.)

Catch 22 by Joseph Heller

So this book was extremely written by a white guy in the 60′s. It’s the kind of novel that galaxy brain dudebros are constantly recommending to their girlfriends. But given that I put a David Foster Wallace book on this list, I might just have to accept that I’m a galaxy brain dudebro at heart.

Anyway, this novel is a brilliant deconstruction of the absurdity and tragedy of war and capitalism. It’s hilarious, clever and heartbreaking. I think a lot of authors do the non-chronological timelilne thing just to seem more interesting than they actually are, but in Catch-22, the non-linear timeline is used perfectly. The narrative works on an emotional level (even if it’s a bit confusing on the linear level) so that a lot of plot points that are initially presented as funny and absurd become such emotional gut punches later. For a book that’s known for being so clever and above it all, it is also unabashedly emotional and Heller truly cares about his characters in a way that very few satirists do. It’s a book that will make you laugh and cry and care a whole lot more than you were expecting to.

The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman

So this is kind of a weird one for me. It’s really short, more like a novella than a novel, which isn’t usually my thing. Also, the characters aren’t really characters, they’re archetypes (which is done on purpose, because that’s how a lot of short stories work, but I know that’s a turn-off for some people). I’m also not a huge horror fan and this is one of Gaiman’s more horror-y outings. So why do I love it so much? Well, it’s basically Childhood Trauma, the book, and it does that really really well. Like, through it’s archetypes and its horror tropes and its general use of shorthand, it captures this really specific atmosphere of nostalgia and fear. It’s like one short but perfectly constructed dose of pain and catharsis and it achieves that through restraint. It’s a brilliant little piece and I love it a whole lot.

Beloved by Toni Morrison

So, if it’s not clear by now, I love me some good emotional storytelling and there’s no genre more beholden to emotion than the gothic novel. And, with all due respect (and love) to the Bronte sisters, Beloved is the best gothic novel of all time. I’m honestly struggling to explain why it’s so good. Partially because everyone already knows its good. I mean, it’s a classic for a reason. But partially because talking about this book and its contents is really difficult. This is the saddest book I’ve ever read. There’s no other book that destroyed me quite as much as this one. I’ll probably never reread it because it was so hard to get through the first time. Morrison’s prose truly takes you to the depths of the pain of her characters. It presents the horrors of slavery mostly through the trauma of the aftermath and it does so with such care and brilliance. This book is truly a masterpiece and if anything on this list is required reading, especially for my fellow clueless white people, it’s this one.

Brief Interviews With Hideous Men by David Foster Wallace

I was considering leaving this one off the list, just because I was embarassed to admit that I’m the kind of person who likes David Foster Wallace. I mean, I might as well start vaping and mansplaining while I’m at it. But I decided to be honest instead, so here we are.

Anyway, I was never able to get through DFW’s headier stuff. Like I really did try to read Infinite Jest, but I could not get through it. But Brief Interviews is a short story collection, which is great, because if DFW gets too far up his own ass in one of the stories, you can just skip to another one. And to be honest, I do think there are some shitty stories in this one (wtf is that Tri-Stan shit David?). But the ones that work? Holy shit do they work. I’m not even remotely kidding when I say that The Depressed Person is what finally convinced me to go to therapy. Like I read it and I realized that if I related to the character that much, I really did need help. It’s such a good story and if you don’t want to read the whole book, at least read that one. Personally, I think it’s the best thing DFW has ever written. And the interviews themselves are almost as brilliant. Like, I know that DFW is most well known for his post-modern experimental style and his weird obsession with tennis, but honestly, I think he’s at his best when he writes character studies. He’s really good at creating uniquely shitty human beings and then truly getting to the core of why they are that way. And Brief Interviews is the crowning achievement of that.

Go Tell It on the Mountain by James Baldwin

So James Baldwin is a genius, obviously, and there are plently of novels of his I could have chosen for this list. I went with this one because I love books that follow multiple generations of one family, and this book is easily the best version of that that I’ve ever read. It’s a novel about the cycle of abuse, religion, racism, segregation, poverty, police brutality, coming-of-age and sexuality. And even though the book is pretty short, it covers all of these themes brilliantly and thoughtfully and with such love and care. It’s also semi-autobiographical, which is probably why it feels so personal and gut-wrenching. Objectively, it’s probably the best book on this list. It truly is a masterpiece from beginning to end. Also, no offense to Umberto Eco, but it has the best religion based hallucination/vision from God (depending on how you choose to read the scene) scene in any book ever.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon

So I know I said I wouldn’t rank anything, but this is probably my favorite book ever. The best way I can think to convey my love for it is to tell you that I’ve associated it with an unrelated song (The Only Living Boy in New York) and there are few things I care about more in the world than making sure that that song will be used in one particular scene in the inevitable TV adaptation, even though I know that’s never going to happen because it would be a completely anachronistic song choice.

It’s hard for me to describe why I love this book so much. Part of it comes down to a really specific personal connection. My grandpa, like Joe, escaped the Holocaust and went to New York and had a really close relationship with a distant cousin of his because the Nazis had killed most of his extended family. So yeah, as a Jew, this book hits pretty hard. But also, as is probably pretty apparent by now, I love pretentious prose that uses way too many big words. I also love emotional and thematic stortytelling and oh boy does this book have that in spades. And the character work is so gorgeous and I care about these people’s relationships so much and the comic book sequences recapture the feeling of golden age comic books so perfectly and god I love it so fucking much.

[tomtenadia]

Island Dreams - Chapter 14

Chapter 14 folks. And Lysandra and Aedion are here as well <3

------

A few days had passed and finally the big day had arrived. Lysandra and Aedion were on their way. Aelin was pacing in the small arrivals section of Stornoway airport and kept looking at the screen for the status of the flight from Glasgow. Lysandra and Aedion were on their way and she was excited. Finally the status changed to on approach and Aelin was now full on restless. She hadn’t seen them in a while and was dying to hug Lys again and spend two weeks with her best friend and catch up.

Rowan had stayed behind at the bookshop but they were going to him after they had dumped everything at her place. She had offered them her spare bedroom. She had the space so why not? Also, she loved the idea of sharing a flat with Lysandra again. She was hoping to have time to just be with her and in her heart she was begging for Rowan and Aedion to get along so she could get the boys together and be alone with Lysandra. Twenty minutes passed and the screen had been flashing landed for a while when she finally heard her name by a voice that she would have recognised everywhere. “Lys.” She shouted and ran for her friend and hugged her savagely making a scene in front of all the other passengers. The two girls hugged for a solid five minutes until Aedion cleared his throat. Aelin finally detached and gave the man a hug “It’s nice to see you as well.” “It’s fine Ace, I am used to be an afterthought when it comes to you two.” Aelin grabbed some of the bags “Come on, let’s get you out of here.” The drive home was short and sweet and the two women had spent the time catching up, something that would probably take the whole two weeks. Aedion had sat in silence, knowing full well how much Lysandra had missed Aelin. They finally arrived at Aelin’s place and they all got in and Lysandra was staring at the place in amazement. “Aelin, this place is wonderful.” “Just renting it for now, but yes I love it.” Aelin took her friends upstairs, gave them a tour and showed them their bedroom “the bathroom is at the end of the corridor” “Are we going to meet Rowan?” Lysandra was dying to finally be introduced to the guy. Aelin had kept her posted on her development with her two guys and also sent her some of the pictures she had taken of him during their trip. “We are going to the bookshop as soon as you two are ready to get out again. Take your time, I am downstairs.” Aelin left them and went back downstairs and texted Rowan They are here. We are at my place. We will be there in about an hour I think. His reply did not come straight away Busy. I will see you in a bit. I am looking forward to meet your friends. Forty minutes later the couple came down stairs all changed and ready to go. “Rowan is waiting for us.” Added Aelin with excitement. She had been counting down the days to this since Lys had told her over the phone that they were coming. They left and started walking to the bookshop and Aelin acted as guide and was pointing at places and telling them stories as if she had live there all her life. Ten minutes later they were at the shop “Tadaaa” “Is that him?” Lysandra whispered when she spotted a man with silver hair through the window and Aelin smiled in reply. “Holy fuck, young lady, not a single one of the pictures you sent me do him any justice.” “I am standing here, by the way.” Protested Aedion, feeling left out. “Yes, darling, I know.” She kissed him tenderly. “Seriously, you really hit the jackpot.” Aelin laughed and turned to Aedion “you know she loves you right?” Lysandra turned to him a kissed him again “I’ll prove you tonight I much I love you.” And a massive grin spread on his face, while Aelin pretended not to hear. As soon as they entered Aelin felt Rowan’s arms around her waist and a soft kiss on her lips “Hi you.” “Back at you.” She said returning the kiss. Then she pulled away and made the introductions “Lysandra, Aedion, this is Rowan.” She turned to him “Ro, these are my friends.” “Welcome to Stornoway, guys.” Lysandra stared at him and heat flushed through her. His accent added to his already high level of hotness, together with the awesome tattoo sneaking up his arm. Damn the man was sex made real. She had to get a grip. She had Aedion and she loved him. “We are so happy to be here.” “And I am glad there is another guy here. I would have risked to have two week of holidays by myself.” Aedion joked grabbing Lysandra by her waist and pulling her to him. “Cheeky.” “Babe, I love you but when it comes to you and Aelin, most of times I am the third wheel.” When a customer came in, Aelin made a move to go an d serve him but Rowan stopped her “Stay with your friends.” Aelin gave Lys and Aedion a tour of the place and they loved it showing with pride her displays. “So this is where you work just now.” Lysandra said almost beaming at her friend. “You seem happy, much happier than when you left.” And took her hand. “I am…” and her gaze landed on Rowan and Aedion gave them some privacy and pretended to browse some books. “So are you two…” Aelin shook her head “We are taking it slowly, no labels or anything. And we haven’t… you know… that… yet.” “How can you resist it? Have you seen him?” Lysandra pointed out. “We have a promise.” Aelin explained and when she noticed Lysandra’s expression she expanded a bit “It’s a long story, but it will happen but not until the correct conditions are met.” “By the way… his hands…” and Aelin laughed and remembered the day in the office. “I know, they are wonderful.” And winked at her friend. “So you did something.” “Of course, we are taking it slowly, but not that slowly.” “Is he good?” Asked Lysandra who was getting super curious. Aelin gave her a huge grin. “You naughty girl.” The two women were chatting away when the boys joined them again and Rowan held Aelin from behind and put his chin on her shoulder “If you guys are hungry, this is the time when we usually close for lunch. We can go to my aunt’s.” Aelin turned and threw her arms around Rowan’s neck “Fooood. I knew I chose you for a reason.” Lysandra stared at her friend and was stunned by how much she had changed. She had never seen her like that. Not even when things with Chaol were good, she appeared that happy. She was different. A good different and that made her super relieved. The last memories she had of Aelin were of someone heartbroken in more ways than one. “I am starving,” said Aedion. Lysandra and Aedion left the shop and Aelin and Rowan followed after having closed the doors. He grabbed her hand “Let’s go.” A few minutes later they were at the cafe. “Maeve is Rowan’s aunt.” Explained Aelin while they entered the place. It was quite busy that day but they managed to get a table for four. Maeve joined them a moment later with the menus. “We have guests today. These are Lysandra and Aedion. They are my friends from London.” Aelin made the introductions. “Welcome guys. These are the menu. Take your time to order.” “The food here is great.” Aelin told them and she heard Rowan chuckle. “Any problems?” “You would know if the food is good. You already tried it all, twice.” And he flicked her nose tenderly. “Did you forget to take your ‘be nice’ pills today?” She jested and Lysandra was staring at her friend in fascination. “But I love seeing getting all worked up for nothing, mo chridhe.” And he kissed her gently. “Was that Gaelic? The last thing you said, by the way.” Asked Lysandra not understanding the last thing Rowan said. Aelin nodded. “I am sorry, but it’s so sexy.” And she blushed savagely. Rowan laughed out loud “I’ll take it as a compliment.” They finally ordered the food and after a while it arrived. “This looks awesome.” Commented Aedion who was really starving. They had left London very early and had it felt like their breakfast had been a lifetime ago. “So, I had a look at some of the things we can do while you guys are here and I thought about a little side trip.” Aelin explained, pulling out her guide from the backpack “I was thinking a four days trip and head for North Uist.” Then she turned to Rowan “Can it be done?” Rowan nodded enthusiastically “I have a better plan,” he offered and Aelin nodded eagerly he was the local, he had a better idea of what could be done. “Day one, we can head south, catch the second ferry in the morning and in an hour we are on North Uist and we can hang about the north.” He explained “Day two we can drive the whole length of North and South Uist. They are basically loads of islands connected by causeways. Day three, we can venture all the way to Barra. If we leave early in the morning we can catch the first ferry our. Spend the day on the island and come back with the last ferry. It’s June and the days are super long. Day four me come back, but we can take them to some nice places on Lewis.” “Why did I even bother buying a guide, when I have you?” She touched his hand and he grinned back. Lysandra clapped her hands excited “I trust you two. I mean I am open to anything.” “Me too.” Added Aedion. “And there’s beaches” Rowan added and Aelin looked at him “Huge ones.” “What? Better than Luskentyre?” Rowan nodded and Aelin’s mouth fell open “How is that even possible?” “What is Luskentyre?” Asked Aedion curious. “It’s this incredible, stunning, amazing beach. We’ll go there, I promise.” Explained Aelin remembering the first time she went there. “Can we swim?” This time it was Lysandra. Rowan was dubious. He could but he was not sure they could take it “It’s June. If we get a good day, chances are it will be warm but the water might not be that as warm. We are still talking about the Atlantic Ocean.” “But we can suntan? I need to loose my Londoner’s pallor.” Then she looked at Aelin who had gained a bit of colour “Like her.” Rowan for a moment imagined Aelin in a swimsuit. He pushed the image away because they were in public and with friends. “Could you close the shop for four days?” Rowan nodded “I haven’t taken a holiday in a very long time. I don’t care.” And his arm went around her shoulder and she gave him a wonderful smile that almost stopped his heart. “Logistics,” continued Aelin who was having a great time planning the time away with Rowan and her friends “How about a self catering. We get a cottage so we have more freedom?” “I know some places.” Added Rowan “I know one that has a view of the sands from the living room. And the path to the beach is not far away. I can get in touch with them.” “Please.” Said the two women in unison. “Let us know the price and we’ll share. I am paying for Lys. This is kinda a very belated birthday present for her.” And he kissed her tenderly. “Ok, today is Wednesday,” said Rowan “Can we do Friday? I have to go to the school tomorrow.” And he turned to Aelin “I am going for my instructor trial tomorrow morning.” Then he turned to Aedion “you can come with me so the ladies can have some time alone.” “Thanks man, our girls need a few hours of crazy gossiping.” “Lysandra and I can man the shop.”Aelin grinned wildly. “Ohhh I would love that. Yes, please.” Lysandra stared at Rowan with puppy eyes. “Can we trust them?” Joked Rowan talking to Aedion. He had a good feeling about the guy at liked him from the beginning. “It’s your shop, man. I hope you are insured.” Rowan and Aedion laughed while the two women glared at them. “You two are horrible.” Said Lysandra. Aedion hugged her “Yes, but you love me.” “Maybe,” she pouted.

The next morning Lysandra and Aelin were ready for their morning alone in the shop and for some well deserved gossiping. The boys were away and they finally had some time alone. “I love this, by the way.” Said Lysandra looking around the bookstore “Rowan has done an amazing job.” Aelin nodded and went to open the door and noticed one of their regulars. She collected the order for the woman and Lysandra studied her friend at work. She seemed a natural. When she was free again, Lysandra decided to begin “So, you and Rowan. Are you seriously telling me that you guys are not together? I have seen how he looks at you. And when he told you that sweet thing in Gaelic? Hell Aelin, that man is crazy about you.” Aelin took a seat next to Lysandra. “I know.” She sighed “And I am madly in love with him. We both know our feelings.” “So why the breaks?” Aelin’s stare was fixed outside the window “Because until a few days ago Elias was still in the picture. Because we both had bad past relationship and both need to take it slowly for once. Neither of us wants to fuck up this one. So no labels for now. Just let it develop as it goes. And I love it. I love him, Lys, so badly that it hurts.” “I can see that.” Lysandra caressed Aelin’s head “And I can see he does too.” Then she took her friend’s hand “I don’t think I have ever seen you so happy. Not even with police guy.” Aelin squeezed Lysandra’s hand back. “And please let’s discuss how that man is sex on two legs, now that I had some time to study him in real life.” Aelin barked a laugh “I am glad Aedion is not here.” “Seriously. One: his hands. The things he could do with them. Two: the backside. He should have a permit because that thing is a weapon that could kill.” Aelin kept laughing. She missed this. They used to discuss together the guy they were interested in, but it was the first time Lysandra was so openly excited about one of her men. “Three… is he a god or something? His body, have you seen him? Imagine him naked…” and Lysandra fanned herself with her hands. Aelin thought back at the day in his office when he had his polo shirt off. “He used to be a professional swimmer, he almost made it to the Olympics.” “Holy mother of all fucks.” And Aelin had missed Lysandra’s colourful language of when she was shocked. “So that’s why the swimming thing for the school?” Aelin nodded “Bad injury. Had to give up.” “Drat, that’s awful.” “Anyway, if you let him go I am coming back here and I’ll thump you.” They were chatting away when the door opened and Elias entered the shop. Aelin almost chocked on the coffee she was sipping. “Good morning,” he said in a very cheery voice and gave Aelin a huge smile. Then he turned to Lysandra “Is it me or Rowan is all of a sudden more gorgeous than I remember?” Aelin giggled “This is Lysandra, she is here visiting.” Then turned to her friend “Lys, this is Elias.” Lysandra’s mouth fell open “Hi…” she managed “I heard a lot about you.” “Good things I hope.” Lysandra nodded. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” “Aye lass, but I have a very tedious meeting coming up in two hours and a desperate need for books.” He leaned against the counter with his hands. “You need book two of The cursed Kingdom?” “And three, and four.” Elias added. Aelin jumped off the chair and went to get the books and Elias followed her at the shelves “Love the display. Are you trying to break everyone’s heart by recommending this series?” “No,” she handed him the books “I am just teaching islanders what a good Fantasy series looks like.” They walked back to the counter under the strict stare of Lysandra. “Can I at least hope in an happy ending? Because the angst so far is killing me.” Aelin put the books in a bag and handed them to him “Nope. As I said, buy wine. And prepare for the worst angst in history. And I am not telling you how it finishes.” “Ok, the warrior guy cannot die and he needs to end up with the Queen.” Aelin giggled and loved the fact that they could still talk and be around each other without it being awkward. “Just text me when you reach chapter twenty five of book two.” “Something bad happens?” “Just text me.” Aelin rolled her eyes. “Of course m’lady.” And he bowed to her with a huge spitting grin. His eyes bright with mirth. “And after this lovely conversation I have to bid farewell to you two lovely ladies and go back to a conversation about environmental friendly engines.” “I’ll text you.” He added staring at Aelin. “I am counting on it.” And with that he left the shop. Lysandra turned all of a sudden to her friend “That was Elias. As in theElias as in the other guy?” Aelin nodded. “Damn, now I understand why you were all flustered and confused. Seriously woman, what do guy eat around here?” Lysandra blurted out “Ok, he is not sex on two legs like Rowan but I’d definitely take him out for a ride if it wasn’t that I love Aedion.” “He is wonderful. Just…” “No spark. It’s fine. At least you are still good friends.” Aelin wanted to reply but a group of what clearly were tourists came into the bookshop. By accident Lysandra moved the mouse with her hand and it woke up the computer and she noticed the screensaver. It was a picture of Aelin on the beach. She had her arms up in the air and her feet in the water and a smile she had never seen on her friend. And her heart ached. She was happy for Aelin, but she also knew that the chances of her going back to London were now non-existent. And the idea of not having her around hurt. But she knew Aelin needed all of the good things that were happening to her and she hoped Rowan was intelligent enough to realise what an amazing woman he had won over. Lysandra got off the chair and started walking around the shop with interest and studied Aelin in her new element.

It was later in the morning when Rowan and Aedion returned to the shop. “Glad to see my bookshop is still standing, Fireheart.” And he pulled her to him for a hug and Aelin could smell the chlorine on him and flinched. She kissed him behind his ear and found a spot where the chlorine did not seem to affect him and smiled. “How was it?” She asked looking up at him. “I loved it. The kids are great and it felt awesome to be back in the water.” He kissed her “And after they all left I stayed in the water and swam a bit.” She stayed hugged to him but turned a little to look at Lysandra “We had a good morning too. And Elias popped in for a visit. He needed the other books in The Cursed Kingdom.” “Poor man,” Rowan joked and kissed Aelin’s head grateful that she did not hide from him the fact that the man had come to the shop. He was okay with them being friends because that made Aelin happy. And that was going to be his next mission in life: make her as happy as he could. “So you are taking the job?” “I will. After our break. I already told them so.” He explained. And Aelin grinned. She was happy that Rowan had made that step, he seemed happier all of a sudden “Now I just need to see you swim.” Lysandra’s eyebrows went up in acknowledgement and she thought about the conversation they had earlier. “I was thinking…” began Rowan and Aelin gave him a puzzled look and he ignored her “What about dinner all of us together at my place tonight?” Aelin was staring at him in disbelief. What had happened to him all of a sudden? She looked at his serene face and she realised they were a long way from the grumpy man who had kicked her out of the shop and told her she was nothing to him. She slid her arms around his waist and almost purred. She did not care if her friends were there. She needed that. Plus, in the past she had to suffer Lysandra and her PDA with other boyfriends. “Sounds like a brilliant plan.���

Rowan had closed an hour earlier and affixed a sign on the door advising the customers that the shop was going to close for four days for holidays. They had all gone to their respective places to pack and get ready for their trip. Aelin felt on cloud number nine. They arrived at Rowan’s at six thirty. They had decided for an early dinner. They didn’t want to stay up too late considering the early departure on the schedule for the following day. Once at the house, Rowan welcomed them in and his place smelled like delicious food. Apparently Rowan was good at cooking. Aelin was eager to see if she could add that one as well to the list of skills the man had. “Come and sit in the living room.” “Wow.” Was Lysandra’s comment at the sight “And I thought Aelin had a problem with books. Looks like you are worse than her. Definitely the man of her dreams.” And she winked at Aelin with a mischievous smile. Rowan pretended to ignore the comment and opened a bottle of wine “You can drink too since you did not drive here.” Aelin rolled her eyes. He was so overprotective. “Yes, dad.” And Lysandra laughed loudly and Aelin had half an idea of why. Rowan filled their glasses “dinner will be ready soon.” And disappeared back in the kitchen and Aelin glared at Lysandra. “What?” He friend whispered “I am just helping.”

Rowan came back a few minutes later with a fantastic series of plates with mouthwatering food. “You made all this?” Asked Aelin incredulous. “I did.” Then he brought over the last two dishes. He had made an amazing pork roast with vegetables, and roasted potatoes. “These are for you.” He gave Aelin a plate with fries “I know you love them, although you are missing out on my roasted potatoes.” “Who said I am missing out?” She grinned. They began eating and Aelin was amazed s the meal turned out to be wonderful and she wondered if her could be any more perfect. “I have found a place for us where to stay. It’s a cottage I knew and they had space for the nights we needed so I went ahead and booked it. Hope it’s okay.” “As long as it’s the one with the beach view.” Aelin had her priorities all right. “It is. I also booked our ferry ticket so we don’t have to worry too much.” “What time would you like to leave tomorrow?” Asked Aelin knowing that Rowan already had an action plan. “I’ll come and pick you up at seven. Better leave early, especially if we plan to go to Luskentyre. I plan on having to drag Aelin away by force.” He grinned at her and brushed her hand “We have the ferry at 13:15.” He took a sip of his wine “I had a look at the forecast and it looks like we are going to be very lucky. There is a warm front coming and it’s going to hit us right when we are away. but…” and he stared at the two women “bring clothes to protect you from the wind. Aelin knows how bad the wind can get out here.” And his piercing green eyes were on Aelin. “I am going to bring a swimsuit. I don’t care. I need to swim in those waters.” “I’ll bring medicines.” He replied glaring at her.

The dinner went on a bit longer but at 9 Rowan decided he was sending everyone home. They had a long day ahead and they needed rest. “You are kicking us out so you can read.” Aelin told him brushing a kiss on his cheek. “I am kicking you out because we are leaving early tomorrow.” He leaned into the kiss. “Do you want a help cleaning up?” She offered but he refused “Pans and pots are already washing in the dishwasher. I just need to do the dishes. It won’t take me long.” “Okay” she said brushing his hand.

Once at the door Lysandra and Aedion said their goodbyes and then the woman dragged her boyfriend away to let the two some privacy. “Thank you for tonight. It was very nice of you.” Rowan kissed her and pinned her against the wall near the door. Aelin’s hands went straight for his hair and replied to the kiss with the same need as him. When she came up for air she stared him in his green eyes “I love you, mo chridhe.” “The more you say it, the more your accent gets better.” And he kissed her again. “I love you, mo chridhe,” His hand brushed her hair and kissed her one last time for good measure. “Tha gaol agam ort.”

[marshmallowprotection]

Hello there! I have a request please. ^^ How the RFA and Minor Trio would deal with a MC who's afraid/wary of men because pratically every men they knew has been abusive in some way towards her? The only men the MC trust is basically them, and also the others men who are part of RFA to some extent.

TW: Abuse

Yoosung knew that you were very wary of nearly everyone in the RFA, and well, it made sense to him. You were tricked by some stranger and then put into this room with even more strangers, anyone would be nervous. He knows that he’d be nervous! It wasn’t so bad over the phone but in person? You were always in a tense position, your fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt, almost as if you were waiting for something horrible to happen. 

He can hold your hand and reassure you that nobody is going to hurt you while he’s there with you. He may not be the strongest guy around, but he knows that you put a lot of faith and trust into him. He wants you to know that you’re going to be okay with him. He knows that he can’t control your life or how you cope during the day when you’re alone, but he’s always there to listen when you text him or call him when you need reassurance and grounding. 

Zen understood why you would be hesitant to trust anyone. He would’ve been that way as well if he were in your position. It didn’t a lot for him to discern that you were more nervous about guys, no, he could see the tremor in your eyes whenever someone stepped too close to you, or their voice raised even in the slightest way. He hated to see you so uneasy. It was worse when he was the cause of your unrest whenever he leaned in a little closer and you instinctively moved away. 

He’s your knight in shining armor and he’s always come rushing to your side if you call him, no matter what’s going on and no matter what you’re dealing with at the time. He is willing to do whatever he can to reassure your fears, holding you tightly, and reminding you that you’re alright. Nobody is out to you and he will make sure that you’re always willing to talk to him when you need to let it all out. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to tell him that he’s stepping on your toes, too. 

Jaehee may not know what it feels like to deal with the level of pain that you’ve been through in your life, but she does know that seeing you fraught with fear in your eyes and unease in your shoulders isn’t great. It happened the most often whenever everyone was together, your fingers would clutch at your forearms as the boys got a bit too rowdy or loud for your liking. She would see you try to mask that fear but there’s no hiding how you would break down afterward when you were alone. 

She’s the first person to let you know that she’d never let anyone hurt you, nor would any of the RFA. Everyone cares about you and they want you to know that as long as you have them to count on, you’ll never be hurt again on their watch. She’ll help you rationalize your fears and ground you whenever you get lost in a memory or get uneasy about being somewhere. She listens, and never judges your fears. 

Jumin can’t say that he knows what you must have gone through. He never will be able to empathize, but he knows that he can offer comfort and support when you feel afraid. Understanding and listening is the key thing to making sure that your partner feels safe, at least, that’s what he’s read in his spare time when he looked over when he wanted to know how to best help you feel stable. He sees you afraid of so many things that he wishes he could protect you from, but he gets that it takes more than a night to overcome trauma. 

He makes sure that you have someone to talk to that can help you learn to handle this when he’s not there to hold your hand and reassure you. He knows that he isn’t prepared to help you in all the ways that you need so he’s happy to ensure that you’ve got a safe space other than the penthouse to open up and work on these fears. Jumin listens and he helps you work on breaking apart the fears and rationalizing a situation piece by piece to ease down the fears as they brew.

Seven knows that fear in your eyes. He’s seen it in himself and he’s seen it in his brother’s eyes. That was why he tried to contain anything that was loud or upsetting when he was with you, but even that wasn’t enough, he knew. You’d be hurt too much for that change to be enough to make you feel completely feel at ease. Seeing you curl into yourself and apologize over and over again when you were put on the spot? Yeah, that was the last thing he knew that you wanted to deal with. 

He knows how he used to comfort his brother and he does his best to make sure that you feel safe. He’ll remind you that he’s got eyes everywhere and that he can always come running to your rescue if he has to. He did it before and he’ll do it again. He knows that your fears are grounded in reality and he wants to help you work on letting them not overwhelm and consume you. It will take more than a day, but he’s there for you just like you’re there for him. 

Jihyun understands to some degree what it’s like to be scared of the people in your life that you feel like you should be able to trust. Someone broke that faith that you put into them and they hurt you. He wishes that he could do more to help you feel safe and at ease with him and others, but he knows that he can only do so much to ease whatever’s bothering you. Seeing you on the edge of your nerves breaks his heart. 

He remembers when he tried to comfort Saeran for the same reason and while he can be a bit stiff when it comes to reassuring someone who is scared, he’s trying his best to make sure that you know that he’s listening. He’s always there to hear you out and hold you tightly. He knows that you’re afraid but he’ll help you to see that you’re safe and sound, that nobody can hurt you anymore as long as he is here. 

Saeran knows the feeling, it’s just in the opposite way for him. He has a harder time with feminine figures in his life because those were the ones that were the most vicious to him and his father was more of a shadowy figure of despair, and his mother was more of a tangible threat. He would see the fear in your eyes and he would kick himself whenever he made you relive something that he’d never want to relive himself, and he blames himself a lot when he causes you to cause or become uncomfortable. 

You’ve always been there for him. You’ve helped him feel safe when his fears come to the surface and he’s ready to do the same thing for you. It’s clear that you’ve both been hurt in countless ways but now you have each other and that means somebody that empathizes and is there for you when the tears come to you or the anxiety grows. You ground him when he feels scared and he holds you tight when you’re trembling and shaking. You’re both learning how to grow together. 

Vanderwood knows the tell-tale sign of someone that has been through the worst that humanity can dish out. It was written in your shoulders or when you flinched whenever someone in the room raised their hand even close to you, and while they understood the lingering trauma that must be affecting you in ways that even you couldn’t write down in a list, they were worried that this fear was consuming you very being. It was sincerely affecting your friendships and relationships in ways that you felt ashamed of. 

They’re not the most cuddly person in the world but they’re willing to hold you if you need it. You don’t have to be afraid of going out when you’ve got the meanest guard dog in your playing field now, they jest, but they sincerely know what you’re afraid of and why. They are here to hear and make sure that you know that they’d never let anyone hurt someone that cared so greatly for them like you do.