#Christopher bedroom theory

[stagefoureddiediaz]

I have questions!!!

What is Chris writing? Is it homework, is it a diary?? If it’s homework I’m very 👀👀👀 because they’re continuing to establish Chris doing his homework with buck - and more so than with Eddie which I think is an important thing to note!

What does it look like they had a disagreement of some sort (that whole picture looks like a parent and child talking it out in the aftermath of a fight

That damn poster is back on that wall - the one that looks like some sort of band poster but that also plays into the desert and space themes!!!! (I need to go check my notes but I don’t think it was that one there last season!!)

Christopher in grey again and the shirt being like a child version of the one buck wore the last time he was in Christopher’s room!

Buck back in yellow ochre - communication and buck growth/ dawning realisation/ understanding about himself!!!! I’m here for it

Eddie in a short sleeve denim shirt has me thinking all kinds of thoughts!!!

Eddie wearing his Christopher watch 👀👀👀

[operation-steal-chans-laptop]

Now that it’s a well-established fact that I live in a perpetual chan brainrot, here’s some hard dom! Channie that had been away at tour for months turning back to pleasure dom! Channie once he sees the your bones being much more prominent than before because I’m an insecure little bitch who just needs some comfort but doesn’t have any irl. I missed flooding your inbox with my ramblings lol

The origins for this come from the average brainrot texts I send my bestie, which quote-unquote today was:

I want christopher to ask me to open up big and wide for him and show my tongue out, have him grab it and say, “my throat, my tongue, my plaything and my little fuck toy, and i get to do whatever i want with it and it doesn't get to make a single noise. I hope my rag doll understands that yeah?”

Now you see, Chan does have a tiny thing with anger, but over the years he has managed to learn to know where he must keep it in, public appearances, at the company, broadcasts and anywhere else he needs. But getting rid of that fury that he feels when things don’t go his way a bit too much for a period long enough for him to be raging with clenched fists becomes a problem. This, is kinda where you step in, his problem solver, his savior, his girl. Even after coming back from tour, his work had him preoccupied to the point that an hour at the company twice the past week was all you’d gotten from him. You didn’t have many complaints tho, you knew he’d come around eventually, but the slow buildup of his frustration was kinda concerning for you could see it right through.

Chan wanted his girl with him and this was as straightforward as it could get. It wasn’t fair for you to cum only over videocall with him and he’s gone too long without feeling your throat and your cunt around his dick and his hand just doesn’t cut it anymore. He needs to hold you, he needs your skin on his, your mouth on him, he needs you in your flesh, atleast for a few days if not for the forever he wishes he could have.

In plain words, at the 2-week mark of him being back, chan snapped.

The track wasn’t coming along the way he wanted, the company had more feedback than he’d like for the new album concept, he hadn’t been able to workout, his hair won’t go the way he wanted to, and everything felt plain wrong. He’d thought that maybe talking to you would help him but your replies had been a bit too short for him to believe everything was right and you being the avid masker you were, chan really couldn’t figure out what was wrong because you just refused to give it away. Chan felt like he couldn’t reach you anymore and it made him disappointed and livid at his own circumstance in equal proportions. What really pushed his buttons was when you asked him to stay at the dorms instead and rest when he’d probably just be coming back running to yours if he could. That was it, chan was livid and as much as he wanted to feel sorry for you to be at the receiving end of things, he knew how much you’d love him like this, from well previous.. encounters.

Chan opens the door to your apartment and slams it shut behind him, clothing and everything coming off from the moment he’s in the hallway. He looks for you everywhere to find you on your desk in your bedroom, getting through with some work mails, clad in a bit too large of a button up and underwear, and chan’s shorts maybe just feel a bit uncomfortable.

Clearly taken aback from the sudden intrusion, your eyes widen up a bit when you look up at him, and before you could ask him about his sudden appearance, he just silently makes his way to your bed and sits down by the edge of it. When you turn in your chair to look at him, he’s resting on his left palm behind him, right hand beckoning you over.

“can you come here for me baby?”

You obey, the “dark aura surrounding chan when he’s mad” theory proving itself to its uttermost extent and you know what might be coming your way, which you’d gladly accept any time.

“on your knees baby, mouth wide and open for me”

You do as you’re told, but when you’re about to remove your glasses, chan’s orders for you to keep them on, give you an inkling of how pent up he’d been, with the slight tremble of his palm when it was against your cheek, asking you to open up nice and wide for him and to show him your tongue. Chris did notice the lack of the usual chubbiness of your cheek, your facial bones much more prominent under his big palm, but he chose not to comment then, storing it for later. Your tongue out and spread for him distracts him again which he grabs between his thumb and index finger,

“my throat, my tongue, my plaything and my little fuck toy, and i get to do whatever I want with it and it doesn't get to make a single noise. I hope my rag doll understands that yeah?”

You nod simply, the power of speech taken away from you quite literally. Chan’s heavy cock lays against your tongue, and chan checks with you once more while intertwining his hand with yours, and you squeezing it back giving him the reassurance he needed to go on. And he does, hard.

Chan shoves his cock deep down your throat in a very quick move, making you gag with the intensity but it not being something you couldn’t handle or haven’t done before. Tears form up in your eyes and which you presume from the push of his dick against the back of your throat and so does he, but you loose track of when they become actual tears, result of the heavy weight on your chest you felt everytime you saw a mirror in the past 2 months. Not skinny enough, not pretty enough, not good enough was all you’d hear in your head everytime you caught your reflection. You hold back your tears as best as you could and you seem to do a good job at it when you look at your boyfriend with his eyes shut close and head lolled back in pleasure. He finishes finally, leaving his essence down your throat and pulls out, stroking away the tears that had formed streaks down your cheeks, and decided to not stop, without the physical force of chan being down your throat. The tears come down in full force and don’t stop and chris mentally slaps himself hard enough to cause a concussion, in his head for not checking in with you verbally earlier. He picks you up from where you were in your spot and sits you down onto his lap, hand stroking your back and other hand moving up and down your thigh to soothe you is when it hits him.

He realizes that he’s done enough of making presumptions for the night and asks you, “ what is it baby? What’s gotten my pretty girl so upset? What’s wrong ?” when you reply with a “just missed you that’s all” , Chan realizes you’re not going to give in easily this time. He lets you cry a bit more, holding you, cradling our head against his chest, comforting you to his best but to no avail. There’s only one way he thinks could work his way now.

“little one? Can daddy see his pretty girl for a second? He has a question.”

You finally look up at him, though still scared if he’s still not going to be happy with you and if he’s just about to leave back to the dorms to leave you alone, if he finally realised how he could have someone better and how disgus-

“where did daddy’s friends go baby?”

You definitely did not expect that, and your sound of confusion had made it clear to him that he had to continue. “ you see love, I had some good friends here, around your pretty tummy, around your thighs, your gorgeous face, your beautiful arms, so squishy and so so cute. I know you were going to the gym but it’s unbelievable to me for them to go away this quickly angel, and you never said anything about them either, tell me what’s going on hm?” Chan almost winces in pain when he feels the bones around your hips that he hadn’t ever before, and your tears well up again. Chan thinks he might be hearing things when you say you thought he’d like you better this way and he’d like you more if you looked better for him but one look in your eye and he knows whatever he hears, is very much real, and all of the past few months and the signs he missed come crashing down to him.

“Gorgeous? look at me?”

Your glazed eyes look into his brown ones before he continues “ angel, I love your body regardless of anything. And I mean anything. I love you for you hm? And your amazing body is a part of you and I can’t not love anything about you. Daddy loves everything your body has, your pretty plush thighs, your tummy rolls, your squishy arms, your chubby cheeks, everything. If you want to change the way you look I’ll be by your side through it, but if its for what you just said, I’d not change a nanometre about you lovely. Can I show my pretty girl how much she means to me now?”

A nod too quick and Chan turns you around in his hold, getting rid of your underwear for you and praising every inch of your skin that he could grab on. ” Pretty mole, pretty spot, gorgeous stretch marks, don’t you think they look like rivers baby? Such a magnificent fucking body and how dare your head let you think so low of it? My beautiful fucking queen, my majestic woman” Chan’s words had you tearing up again, but from happiness, and your tears fell free again. When you reassure him it was you being happy, Chan holds your head against the crook of his neck, lining you up against him, teasing your drippy slit with it, and sinking you down on his cock. You tried to move up but your man’s grip stopped you from moving an inch. Chan shifts back on the bed with you in his hold and brings his knees up, making you look at him once again.

“let me do all the work baby, I need to make sure every fibre of your being knows how madly in love I’m with you”

I shall now go to sleep and wake up to the consequences of this madness later

yours faithfully

-💌

Wow- I’m actually speechless and crying….. thank you?

I loveeeeeeeeee angsty smut it’s some of my favorite fics/drabbles to read. This one hit extra hard though, more so than others, and the comfort????? It’s so good :( everything about this is perfect bubby, thank you so much for sharing this with me <3

[wikiangela-fanfics]

Fictober22 - 4. How would that even work?

fandom: 911

ship: Buck x Eddie

Words: 1027

Ao3

Note: Does the fic fit the prompt or does the fic make sense? No idea. Do I care? No, because I had fun writing it haha

I wanted to write a couch fic since I saw the first episode of s6 but haven't gotten around to it haha so here it is 😁

***

“It can’t be this difficult to choose a couch.” Eddie complained when Buck found something to complain about in the very last couch available in the store. “You didn’t like a single one?”

“Nope.” he just shrugged. “I told you, I don’t wanna pick the wrong one.”

“It’s just a couch.” Eddie repeated he didn’t know which time, even though once again he was pretty sure this was about more than just a couch. The way Bucky kept saying that with that look on his face, and looking straight into Eddie’s eyes… you can’t blame Eddie for having some hope. “If you don’t want one, then just don’t buy it.”

“I never said I didn’t want one.” Buck immediately responded, once again giving Eddie that look and a small smile. Eddie’s heartbeat sped up, damn Buck and that adorable face of his. Did he mean what Eddie thought he did? 

“You’re so confusing.” Eddie muttered, shaking his head, as they exited the store and started walking towards Buck’s car. Then, a little louder, he added: “Well, even if you want a couch, you still don’t have to buy one.” he was half-joking, half-testing his theory.

“What?” Buck stopped walking and looked at him with confusion, and Eddie felt his face heat up. If he got this wrong and he was about to make a fool out of himself in the parking lot of this furniture store, he’d love for the earth to open up and swallow him.

“I have a couch.” he just said, tone teasing, trying to be as casual about it as ever. 

“I’m aware?” Bucky still looked confused and amused. But there was something more in his eyes that made Eddie decide to keep going with the ‘joke’. “I still don’t.”

“I’m just saying, if you really absolutely need a couch, we can share.” he joked, starting to walk to the car again. Not looking at Buck made it easier to keep his tone light. Because in reality he was very serious about this. “You basically live with us anyway, you can just move in instead of wasting money on a new couch.” he had no idea why he went there, but it was true. So much of Buck’s stuff was at his place, he would spend the night all the time and leave it, not to mention that time he was taking care of Christopher when Eddie was at the hospital… Besides, his home was Buck’s for years now. Even just as friends, they could move in together. It wasn’t weird to suggest, was it? God, what if it was? He needed to stop questioning himself, no one made him as nervous as Buck did.

“What?” he heard Buck’s confused voice again. “How would that even work? You have two bedrooms. I’m not living on the couch.” his tone was jocular now, too, but there was an edge to it. When Eddie sneaked a glance at him, he saw his half-nervous, half-hopeful expression that he was trying to hide under amusement. Eddie knew him too well, though. And Buck knew him, too… which meant any try at a cool and casual approach to this conversation was probably futile, because Buck could always see right through him. They were best friends, no matter what. So, Eddie didn’t have to hide anything, and on the off chance he was mistaken, it wouldn’t change their relationship. 

“We can work something out.” he said earnestly, a smirk on his face, with a wink in Buck’s direction. Still trying to be cool, but also subtly flirting. He didn’t know how well that worked though, because he was so nervous he could hear mostly just his heart hammering in his chest. He was being ridiculous, they’d be fine no matter what.

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.” Buck answered after a moment of just staring at each other. There was a hint of a smile on his face, a happy, genuine one, that Eddie was in love with. Well, he was in love with Buck, but that smile was one of his favorites.

“That depends on what your answer is.”

“If you’re saying what I think- what I hope you’re saying…” Buck’s eyes were on Eddie’s, as if trying to find answers to how Eddie felt. “I think moving in together is a little fast, don’t you? Take me out to dinner first.” he added teasingly, but he was serious. Eddie could see it in his eyes. Eddie also felt embarrassed that he was less nervous to ask Buck to literally move in with him and his son, than to just simply ask him out on a date. Wow, what a dumbass he was.

“Okay, true.” Eddie chuckled, nervously rubbing his neck. “What can I say, you make me nervous.”

“Nervous? Eds, we’re best friends.” Buck laughed, smiling fondly. “You never have to be nervous about anything with me.”

“I know. It’s different, though. I didn’t want to- I don’t want to ruin our friendship.” he admitted, looking down at the asphalt. 

“You won’t. Just ask me.”

“Why don’t you ask me?” Eddie challenged, looking back at Buck. His stomach was still in knots, but now it was just excitement. Before, he was scared of rejection and making things weird. Now, he could be sure.

“You started the topic!” 

“Fine.” Eddie rolled his eyes, then looked Buck straight into the eyes, and said: “Buck, will you go on a date with me?”

“Of course, Eddie.” he answered, his expression melting from amusement to pure joy and fondness. “But now we have to go.” he looked at his watch. “We gotta pick Chris up soon.”

“Right. Yeah. Let’s go.” They grinned at each other one more time, then finally walked to the car, as they were still in the middle of the parking lot of the furniture store, of all places.

Eddie couldn’t believe that it finally happened, it turned out Buck felt the same way, and now they were officially going on a date, starting a whole new chapter in their relationship. And it’s all because Buck couldn’t pick a couch. Well, maybe he found one.

[denimbex1986]

'On a basic give-‘em-what-they-paid-for level, Christopher Nolan’s extraordinary new film had to have a convincing explosion at its centre – and on that front, be assured it delivers with flesh-quaking aplomb. But what you also realise, within a matter of seconds, is that it would have also been impossible to pull off without Cillian Murphy’s eyes.

In the lead role of J Robert Oppenheimer, the father of the nuclear bomb, Murphy’s faraway gaze not only convinces you that he can actually see the invisible power that crackles between subatomic particles, but also the gravest, most unforgivable consequences of his unleashing it upon the world. In times of quiet contemplation, it’s as if his attention has been caught by a black hole on the far side of the galaxy; at points of anger or tension, his irises could be the crowns of two tiny, cobalt mushroom clouds.

Those eyes might be the neatest way to sum up what Nolan and his cast and crew have achieved here: Oppenheimer is a film that works simultaneously on the most intimate and cosmic scales. It’s at once a speeding roller-coaster and a skin-tingling spiritual portrait; an often classically minded period piece that only Nolan could have made, and only now, after a quarter-century’s run-up.

It unfolds simultaneously in two time periods – Fission, in the scramble towards the fateful Trinity test of the weapon of 1945, and Fusion, in its rattled aftermath – with the structure see-sawing between Oppenheimer’s thirst to crack open the known surface of reality and his horror at what he finds beneath it.

Early scenes of him as a student show him devouring the output of Stravinsky, Picasso, TS Eliot: music, art and poetry all split apart, with untold energy freed in the process, by emerging visionaries in those fields. In a Maximum Nolan move, Oppenheimer positions its lead as their logical heir, and his bomb as the ultimate modernist work.

Playing Oppenheimer from his early 20s to late 50s, the 47-year-old Murphy gives the performance of his life, imbuing Oppenheimer’s body with an enthralling nervous eroticism and his voice with a noirish musicality that reminds you of Bogart. The film both manages to make subatomic theory coolly sexy – honestly, five stars for that alone – and seed its sex scenes with Nolan’s signature jangly existential unease.

Meanwhile, both in the bedroom and out of it, the director’s dialogue is strikingly elegant and crisp, giving us the measure of characters within single lines.

“You’re married to Doctor Harrison?” Oppenheimer asks his future wife Kitty, superbly played by Emily Blunt, at a party. “Not very,” she casually replies.

Washed along on the surges and throbs of Ludwig Göransson’s gorgeously relentless score, the script’s sheer efficiency allows ensemble members like Benny Safdie, as the permanently sweltering physicist Edward Teller, and Tom Conti, as a cuddly yet shrewd Albert Einstein, to deliver juicy supporting turns in just a handful of scenes. But it also equips the major second-tier players with the material for indelible supporting performances: Florence Pugh as Oppenheimer’s lover Jean Tatlock, and most notably Robert Downey Jr, who is on the form of his career as Lewis Strauss, the hawkish chair of the Atomic Energy Commission who takes growing exception to Oppenheimer’s (belated) crisis of conscience.

Downey’s character becomes increasingly important in the film’s third act – a Hitchcockian manhunt disguised as a legal procedural, in which Oppenheimer’s loyalty to the United States is mercilessly scrutinised. But by this point, the two moments most audience members will have been waiting for – the Trinity test explosion, and the famous line from the Bhagavad Gita (“Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds”) have already been hit.

The exact context in which the latter emerges is simply too inspired to spoil. As for the former – which must surely be the most watched explosion in the history of the moving image – Nolan finds a way to re-stage it that makes its splendour and significance feel terrifyingly fresh.

“Try not to set the sky on fire,” Matt Damon’s Lieutenant General Leslie Groves darkly jokes before the red switch is pressed – having learned that the blast, once sparked, might not burn out until the Earth’s whole atmosphere has been consumed. Nolan’s film also makes you feel the seismic, no-route-back import of that single button push: it’s like witnessing history itself being split.'

[geminisecrets]

How I'm Imagining You Part II

Warnings:  18+ ONLY! explicit sexual content, very slight bdsm like only if you squint 

Word Count: 4800

Summary: “You like that?” He smirks down at me. “Baby.” He says again and I close my eyes, pressing my face closer and closer to him …“Baby, baby, baby.” He breathes, fingers tightening in my hair. I’m not trying to be dramatic when I tell you that I think I could genuinely die right now in this moment and be happy. 

What’s worse? Losing your roommate on such a short notice? Or finding a new one within 48 hours that you know almost nothing about? 

Authors Note: This is a part 2 to my story How I'm Imagining You which you can read here! My apologies for taking 763 years to post part 2, ya girl got covid again *eye twitch*

Requests are open :) Jake story coming soon <3

Join our tag list ✨

“I’m telling you, breaking up was the best thing that could have happened to Fleetwood Mac. Stevie Nicks made an entire career out of…” Honestly, I’d stopped listening about 20 minutes ago. It’d been about a month since Sam had moved in and lets just say my cons list is getting a little longer than my pros. 

First it was the wet towels left on the bathroom floor. Then came the constant bass playing. Don't get me wrong, I like a man who’s good with his fingers as much as the next girl or gay but nonstop thumping rhythm has become the soundtrack of every part of my life and I’m starting to develop an eye twitch. I was constantly finding his loose, long hair strands around the apartment. The way that he loaded the dishwasher was weird. He had incredibly pretentious taste in music. You get the jist. 

He had a large record collection too and while it was admirable, he only played a select few albums. Howlin’ Wolfe, BB King, Bob Dylan, Stephen Stills etc., on repeat. Which- yes, all great artists, but if I have to hear Blue by Joni Mitchell one more time, I’ll be committing violent crimes. 

More than either of those factors however, is the commentary. The constant addition of his opinion on everything. See, here’s my theory on Sam. For starters, the man knows he’s hot. Painfully hot. He knows the effect he has on people and he fucking eats it up.  Sam’s in a band with his brothers. They’re not huge, but they’re good. Really good; and they’ve got enough followers to give the man a god complex. I think he truly believes that the world at large is just waiting for him to grace us with his presence and theories on everything under the sun. 

Now don't get me wrong. I know it sounds like I've got only bad things to say about the man but he does have his redeeming qualities. It wasn't even a week after he moved in that he picked up on the fact that I drink chamomile tea every single night before bed. One evening, after I’d gotten home from a particularly grueling evening yoga class, I walked into my bedroom to find my favorite mug sitting on my desk, the tea inside still hot enough to produce little wisps of steam. 

He’s also a slut for cuddles. The man has the coldest toes on planet earth and I chalk it all up to the fact that he is almost never in shoes or socks of any kind. That’s where we find ourselves now. On the couch, his feet tucked under my thigh as I scroll through the endless options on Netflix. He’s had a problem with every single movie I’ve suggested even though he’s insisted that I choose. 

“Tenet? No, Christopher Nolan is overrated.” He protests as I pause my search on that option. 

“You’re just saying that because his movies are too complex for you to understand,” I retort with a roll of my eyes. He scoffs immediately. 

“Please.” he throws his head back, loudly letting out a cackle of a laugh as if I’d just told him pigs could fly. “There’s more to it than th-”

“For the love of GOD, Sam” I interrupt, tossing the remote into his lap. “Would you please just pick something before my ass permanently molds into this couch?” 

A devious smirk spreads across his lips as he contemplates his next words carefully. See, the past few weeks have been… tense. Yes, tense in the sense that Sam was driving me up the wall while I was getting used to his mannerisms, but there was a bit more to it. 

Flash back to where we left off in Part 1… 

Sam takes my hand as he helps me over the lip of the tub, my second orgasm still making my knees wobble unsteadily. 

“Shower sex really isnt all its cracked up to be” Sam smiles over to me as he towels off- wincing as he rubs over the elbow he’d banged against the shower door. “That’s gonna leave a mark.”  

“Yeah, well next time you’re gonna need to think twice before you try to lift my leg up over your shoulder to get your head between my legs.” I add without really thinking much about the weight of my words. 

“Next time, huh?” He looks over to me, eyebrows raised, eyes tracing over my body. My foot is propped on the edge of the sink as I drag the towel over my thigh, drying my skin. My stomach flips instantly and I feel my face getting hot.

“I mean- I don’t- I-” I stutter.

“Relax.” He says, still offering that same laid back smile. “This doesn't have to be a thing.” 

“I just- Okay, I have to ask... How did you realize I was the girl from that party on South Street last week?” I inquire. Sam’s shoulders shake slightly and his lips part open as he laughs. 

“You see that t-shirt on the counter?” He motions with a nod of his head. I follow his gaze and nod a ‘yes’ to confirm, my eyebrows crinkling in confusion. “My sister Ronnie bought that for me in Vegas a few years ago.” My jaw drops.

“No shit!” I guffawed. “When I grabbed it off the floor, I thought it belonged to whoever lived in that room. I had no idea- how- wait, what did you wear home that night?” He ignores the question, instead following up with:

“Wait, you’re telling me that’s not why you chose me to be your new roommate?” He asked.

“What?” I asked in disbelief, “No, definitely not. I didn’t realize you were you until I recognized your necklace this morning.” He hummed, looking down at himself to see it resting between his collarbones. “Details like that tend to stick with you when they’re smacked repeatedly into the back of your head as you’re getting railed from behind.” The laugh that erupted out of him in that moment was a sound I wish I could bottle up and keep with me to release only on my saddest, loneliest days; knowing it could pull me out of the deepest pit with ease. I couldn't help but laugh along with him. 

“Okay, well that certainly changes things.” he states, dropping his used towel to the floor at his feet; walking out of the bathroom and around the corner to his bedroom. I sigh, bending down to pick it up and hang it on the little hook on the back of the bathroom door. Wrapping my towel tightly around myself, I follow him out into the hallway. 

Leaning on the door frame of his bedroom, trying to come across as casual as I can, I ask “What do you mean by that?” I watch as he pulls a pair of briefs from the pile of clean (?) laundry on his bed. Boxes of his belongings still half unpacked and overflowing around him. 

It seems to take him a minute for him to decide what to say next. You’re almost sure he didn't hear you and you’re about to forget it and turn around to cross the hallway to your bedroom before he finally speaks up. “Well when I made my move in there-” he juts his thumb toward the bathroom, “-it was because I was sure you were into me. I thought you accepted my application because you remembered me from last week. I was almost afraid you’d hunted me down just because you couldn't get enough of this” He gestures with both hands to his groin. 

“Sorry, I quite literally cannot tell if you’re fucking with me” I huff out a humorless laugh. “You assume I took the time to somehow target ads to you about rent listings? What, did you think I was whispering keywords into your cell phone after we fucked to get the FBI agent living in your phone to prompt you to ‘happen to find me’ on CraigsList? That I would go through all that trouble just for the chance to see you again?” 

He’s standing a few feet away from me now, wearing nothing but a cocky smirk and a pair of navy blue briefs. His hair is still dripping onto his shoulders and I try my best not to stare as the water droplets trail lower and lower down the expanse of his toned stomach, finally disappearing into his waistband. “Or did you forget so quickly that only one of us got our world rocked that night?” At that, his smile finally falters, just a bit. 

“I think we both know I more than made up for that this evening, wouldn't you agree?” He cocks his head to the side, stepping even closer to me, his hand reaching out to brush my hair over my shoulder, his other going above my head on the door frame, trapping me against it. “Or were those pretty sounds you were making in the shower in response to something else?” My eyes squint into slits as my grin tips up to match his in response to using my pleasure against me. 

“You know what?” I counter, taking a step back, his fingers that were playing mindlessly in the strands of my hair reach out to follow me briefly. He hums a response, curiously. “Maybe it’s best for us to keep our distance after all. Romantically that is.” 

“Romantically” He repeats, folding his arms across his chest. I nod once to confirm, matching his body language and crossing my arms as well, as if to agree.  “Sure thing, Specks. We’ll see how long that lasts.” He smirks, reaching to shut the door on me. 

“You’re insufferable.” I mutter loudly enough for him to hear as I pivot on my heel and head straight into my bedroom, shutting the door behind me.

End of Flashback

His eyes rake over me from his side of the couch and I feel my heartbeat pick up its pace. It’s been this tension nonstop for weeks. Ever since we’d decided, or, I’d decided, that we shouldn't hook up as roommates, it was suddenly all I could think about. I had to tell myself that I wasn't imagining things like the prolonged glances from across the room or the unnecessary hand on my lower back as he passed me in our tiny kitchen. 

“So touchy today, Specks.” He chides. “You sure you want to skip yoga tonight? Sounds like a little Savasana could do you some good.” 

“Meditation is not what I need, Samuel, I need to-” I stop myself immediately, almost bringing a hand up to my mouth to keep the words from coming out. As if I was just about to admit to Sam of all people that I was really just dying for an orgasm that didn’t come from the tiny purple vibrator in my bedside table. Sam’s eyebrows shoot up as he waits for me to elaborate. 

“Say it.” He taunts, eyes boring into mine. His gaze flickers down to my lips and back up to my eyes so quickly that I'm not even positive it happened. It’s silent for a few beats as I calculate my next words very carefully. I open my mouth to reply but he beats me to it. “What is it that you need, Specks?” He moves from his casual, slouched position against the armrest into an upright one in one fluid motion. He’s facing me straight on now, our knees touching. 

“I know what you're doing, Samuel.” I gain the courage to look him right in the eye. 

“And what am I doing?’’ My jaw clenches as he cocks his head to the side, feigning innocence. Something about the smug look on his face coupled with everything building over the past month irritates me to the point of confrontation. I mirror his posture, then. Leaning in, my elbows on my knees, our noses nearly touching, I say:

“You’re trying to get me to cave. And it's not gonna happen.” I smile, proud of myself, ignoring the heat pooling in my stomach over being this close to him, smelling his hair, practically tasting his breath. It makes my mouth water. 

“You seem so sure of yourself.” He grins back at me like he knows something I don’t. “Lots of confidence for someone who couldn't keep my name out of their mouth last Friday night.” He casually slumps back against the armrest again, fingers brushing through his hair. I feel my heart drop into my gut and all of the blood run out of my face. I literally think I might faint and I know exactly what he’s referring to, but in a panic, I say:

“I don't know what you’re talking about.” 

The corners of his lips curve up impossibly slowly. “Let’s see if I can jog your memory. I think it went something like-” he tips his head back dramatically, eyebrows raised, eyes closed, and in the most pornographic, obscenely crude tone, he moans ‘ahhh, yes, Sammy, fuck me harder, daddy-” before he can take it any further, I pounce on him, using both hands to cover his mouth. All I can hear are his muffled chuckles as his eyes crinkle in the corners, his hands finding their way to my waist in an attempt to free himself. 

“Jesus Christ okay first of all-” I hold up one finger for emphasis, my other hand still securely pressed over his mouth. “-there’s no way in hell I called you daddy- but nice try. Second, you said you were going to be out late playing a gig in the city with the band and you’d crash on Danny’s couch.” He squirms under me, my legs still straddling him. He starts to mumble something, but my hand muffles the sound. “Are you going to say something stupid?” I ask. He shakes his head under my hand. “Promise?” I raise my eyebrows in question and hold out the pinky of my free hand as a peace offering. His right hand moves from its place on my waist to slot his pinky in with mine, securing the vow. I squint my eyes in suspicion but slowly remove my hand. 

“I was trying to say that you don’t have to be embarrassed. I was flattered.” His tone is snarky, but his eyes are genuine. Evenso, I roll my eyes. 

“Of course you were.” I lift my leg in an attempt to climb off of him but he catches it, tugging around the back of my knee, keeping me on top of him. 

“Hey.” He looks at me again with the most serious expression I’ve seen on his face since the day I asked him if I could switch the record from his Joni Mitchell album to my Hall and Oates LP. “Get out of your own head.” His smile up to me is genuine as he taps between my eyebrows, encouraging them to unfurrow themselves. 

I hate to admit more than anyone that I’m about to go back on weeks of progress. I’m about to let him ‘win.’ The look on his face tomorrow morning when we cross paths in the kitchen, mugs of coffee in hand, is going to make me want to slap the life out of him, but- I can’t seem to suppress the ache I feel anymore. Like all of a sudden, weeks of wanting has hit me like a ton of bricks. Weeks of watching him mindlessly run his fingers through his hair. Weeks of trying to ignore the way his toothpaste endearingly dribbles out of the left side of his mouth. Every time. Weeks of overhearing him pang out melodies on the keyboard in his bedroom; his steady and sure fingers sliding effortlessly over the keys. I’m not sure if it’s the lust talking or if the butterflies in my stomach are authentic but it prompts me to admit:

“Sam…” I bend at the hips, hands on his chest, lowering myself down to him. “I realllyyyyy want you to fuck me again.” He inhales so deeply through his nose that I think he’s about to sneeze, but the mood changes completely in that instant. 

Before I have time to second guess myself, his lips are on mine. It takes me a minute to gain clarity, but then I give into it. It feels like my bones are made of rubber as I melt into him. Every part of my body melding to every part of his. 

“I missed you.” he whispers into my mouth, grabbing my ass with both hands to grind his hips up to mine. I hum in agreement, repeating the motion until I’m shamelessly riding him, fully clothed. Feeling like there are way too many layers between us, I break our kiss momentarily to pull my shirt over my head. His eyes instantly head south and his hands move from my ass to my tits. He pulls the cups of my bra down with enough force that I audibly gasp and my tits spill out into his hands. His eyes meet mine instantly, wordlessly asking if that was okay. My gasp in surprise turns quickly into a moan of pleasure as I assure him-yeah. Yeah, that was more than okay.  

“Fuck” I cover his hands with mine, head tipping back, pleading with him to squeeze harder. He obliges and sits up to meet me, his mouth finding my neck. I can feel him suck my skin into his mouth and roll it between his teeth and as euphoric as it feels, I push against his chest, breaking the suction immediately. “No marks.” I scold. 

Raising one eyebrow, expression nothing but pure lust, he asks “No marks? Or no marks where anyone can see?” My teeth bite into my bottom lip and I nod with permission. He uses his hands to tip me on to my back and hovers over me, removing his shirt in one fluid motion. His lips meet mine again and this time there's less of a rush. As our lips smush together, I can't seem to feel where mine end and his begin. We kiss for what feels like an eternity before I can feel his hand start to trail down between my tits, going lower and lower until it’s dipping into the waistband of my leggings. 

“Touch me, Sam.” I whine. His fingers find the hem of my thong and dip into my wetness. I can't help the sound of relief that slips from my lips. 

“Is this what you think about? When you touch yourself?” The question catches me off guard but I answer it nonetheless. 

“Not exactly.” I can feel the blush rising to my cheeks, my eyes fluttering closed. 

“No?” He asks, his fingers expertly circling the bud of my clit, alternating pressure from harder to feather light. “Can you tell me?” He prompts. In any other circumstance I would feel absolutely beyond mortified to say what I’m about to say but as His fingers begin to trail a little lower, his middle finger threatening to dip into me, I open my mouth but he interrupts with “ah, ah, ah- look at me.” He commands, his voice dropping an octave lower. My eyes flash open, meeting his instantly, his face just centimeters from mine. I can feel his breath on my cheek. 

“I-um-” It’s getting more and more difficult to focus as I feel him getting harder against my thigh. He drops his lips down to my collar bone, and as if he can read my mind, he asks: 

“Can you feel how hard I am for you? All for you. You drive me crazy” He peppers kisses along the path from my shoulder to my ear. “Tell me lover, I want to make you feel good.” 

“I imagine that you’re fucking me. Hard. From behind.” A growl erupts from his chest and his teeth scrape against the space just behind my ear.

“What else?” He prompts, finger finally pushing past my folds. I hum a pleased response. Hearing his voice drip with want and his dick hard against my leg gives me another dose of confidence and I match his tone, my voice quiet and sensual as I say:

“Sometimes, when I’m alone, I think about you bending me over this couch and spanking me.”  

“Yeah?” He rasps, spurring me on, fingers moving perfectly inside me. I feel myself getting close to climax when he suddenly pulls his fingers out of me, wiping them on his jeans. He chuckles at the pout I display, missing him instantly. He gets up from the couch holding out a hand for me to join him. I give him my hand and he tugs me up until our chests are pressed together. 

He’s closing his eyes, dipping his lips down to catch me in a kiss but I drop to my knees in front of him instead. “Oh” he breathes, lips forming the most perfect circle. I try to make a show out of the way I undress him. Unbuttoning his pants with my teeth- a trick I’d mastered at a bachelorette party ages ago- I look up at him through my lashes. Stretching my arm up to his mouth, I press my fingers past his lips, his tongue swirling around the digits slowly, a hum vibrating around them. I pull them from his mouth and hold my hand out.

“Spit.” I command, waiting for him to oblige. His jaw goes slack and a shaky breath tumbles out. I can tell he’s having a hard time handing the power over to me, but the look in his eyes is telling me he’s loving it. I raise my eyebrows expectantly and he does as I say, letting warmth from his mouth dribble into my palm. “Good boy.” I smile and reach into his briefs, pulling him free. He hisses sharply in pleasure as I begin pumping him with my right hand, my left pulling his pants and briefs down the rest of the way and helping him step out of them. 

Once he’s freed, I guide him into my mouth, swirling the head of his dick with my tongue. I use my spit-slicked hand to start pumping where my mouth doesn't reach. His hands find my hair, brushing the strands from my face as I take more and more of him in. 

“God, fuck” he praises. “So good with your mouth, baby.” ‘Baby’. I repeat in my head. I hum and look up at him again, scratching my nails down his thigh to show my approval of the pet name. “You like that?” He smirks down at me. “Baby.” He says again and I close my eyes, pressing my face closer and closer to him, taking him in so deep that I’m not sure I’ll be able to suppress a gag much longer. 

“Baby, baby, baby.” He breathes, fingers tightening in my hair.I’m not trying to be dramatic when I tell you that I think I could genuinely die right now in this moment and be happy. His hands on my head begin to guide me up and down his shaft, fucking my mouth. As best as I can I nod for him to keep going, fingers again digging into his thighs. He accepts my consent and holds the back of my head with one hand and my jaw with the other. He starts slowly, but picks up speed as he fucks into me. I do my best to stay as still as I can, tongue out so as not to catch him with my teeth accidentally. 

“Fuck” He mutters again, his legs getting shaky. “Look at you.” He pulls out of my mouth slowly, wiping the corners of my lips clean with his thumb and brings it up to lick clean. “C’mere” He helps me up- legs a little wobbly from lack of circulation. He meets me halfway with a kiss, it’s gentle but passionate as he wraps his arms around my frame. “I’m gonna fuck you now, Specks.” He whispers, lips at my ear, biting the lobe playfully. A shiver runs down my spine and he squeezes me harder into a hug when he feels it. 

Releasing his hold on me for just a moment, he meets my eyes. “Take your pants off for me, baby.” He orders, walking slowly backward toward the bathroom to- I correctly assume- grab a condom. Not once do his eyes leave mine as I do as I’m told, slipping my leggings and thong down my thighs, trying to be sexy about my movement, but too desperate for him to really take my time. He’s back within seconds, rolling the latex over his perfect, hard dick. Bringing his hand to my throat, he pulls me in for a deep kiss- his tongue lapping at mine, sinfully. In one quick motion, he spins me around, bending me over the arm of the couch. Rightfully assuming I’m more than prepared, he slips his dick inside me in one quick thrust. I can't help the squeal of pleasure that bursts out of me. 

“Oh fuck, Sammy.” I gasp. He starts rocking himself in and out of me, finding a rhythm easily. We both know we won’t last long with how revved up we both are. “Harder” I chance. His hand reaches forward then, clasping around my throat as he pulls himself all the way out and back in again a few times, taking my breath away each time. 

Without warning he uses his free hand to clap down on my ass cheek. “Yes!” I let out a cry of pleasure, encouraging him to do it again. He does, this time in a different spot. He bends over me, chest pressed to my back. The deja vu of the situation is not lost on me as I remember this position from the very first time we’d ever fucked at that party. At this new angle, he’s driving into my g-spot perfectly and it’s all I can do not to literally cry over how close I am to coming. “So close, Sam.”

“Me too, Specks.” He breathes. “Can you come for me baby? Wanna hear you come. Sound so pretty when you come for me.” That does it. With two more thrusts, I’m crying out for him, profanities spilling out of my lips, panting his name as my walls contract around him. He groans behind me and I feel his release follow mine. The way he moans my name directly into my ear is so heavenly I think I could come again just hearing it fall from his lips. His hips slow their momentum and he squeezes his arms around my middle. We stay like that for a few moments, his arms around me, whispering praises into my ear as we catch our breath. 

He slides out of me and disappears around the corner to dispose of the condom. I reach down for my t shirt but before I even stand up completely, he’s walking back over to me, my silk bathrobe in hand, gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He smiles then, offering the robe to me. There’s no cockiness to his smile like I expected there to be from someone who could very easily tell me ‘I told you so.’

“Thanks.” I return his smile. 

“How about that movie?” He asks, pulling a blanket from the basket in the corner and making space for me next to him on the couch. I join him, pressing myself against the armrest, not quite sure what post-coitus cuddling looks like for us, considering this would be the first. He picks up the remote, finding Rocky II immediately and pressing play. 

“Now was that so hard?” I tease. 

“Oh I knew I wanted to watch this movie hours ago. I just like watching you squirm.” He retorts, wrapping his arm around my neck and pulling me into his chest. I try to wriggle out of his hold but he just squeezes tighter, laughing, and I feel him press his lips to the top of my head. He finally lets me free and I unleash a playful punch to his arm. I can't quite seem to bring myself to fully retreat back to my side of the couch however, so I settle for leaning against him, arm to arm. For warmth. Definitely solely for warmth. No other reason. 

Not even a full minute later, he stretches his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into the crook under his arm. I let myself melt into his touch as the movie starts.  

“Hey Specks?” He says, voice not much louder than a whisper. 

“Hmm?” I answer, absentmindedly tracing the veins on the back of his hand.

“Next time you need something to take the edge off, come find me instead.”

[makorragal-312]

Since I’ve been seeing a bunch of theories of “Animal Instincts” and how it relates to Buddie, I kinda have a theory.

What if...The Buckley-Diaz family are on a family outing (zoo, park, restaurant, etc.) and then while they’re walking, some random jerk keeps mumbling about Christopher and Eddie and Buck choose to ignore it and keep it moving (also Chris is completely oblivious so why bother bringing this to his attention, right?)

This goes on for a couple more minutes before the jerk says something out loud about how slow Chris is going (because crutches) and before Eddie can turn around and say something, Buck is gripping the guy’s collar and pulling him to his face and is basically “Say one more thing about Chris and I’m fucking you up. Keep it moving, dick.” So, the jerk gets spooked and walks away meanwhile Eddie is standing there, stunned at what he just saw.

Fast forward, everyone is back at Eddie’s place and Buck and Eddie are drinking beers in the kitchen when Eddie brings up what happened and is all like:

“Wow, you really went after that guy, huh?”

And then Buck, with almost no hesitation, says something along the lines of:

"Hell yeah! I wasn’t gonna let anyone disrespect our kid!”

Almost immediately, Buck and Eddie are left staring at each other in shock for about a minute before Buck panics and makes his way out the kitchen, into Chris’ bedroom to say goodbye, and is then out Eddie’s door with a hasty “later!” And Eddie is left staring at the door thinking:

Oh.

[gravity-barbie]

How did the Sparrows control their powers? Were some powers more difficult to manage than others?

I haven’t really considered it that much and I can really only guess, but here are some quick thoughts I have on them all, listed from who I think had the easiest to hardest time dealing with their powers.

Jayme

Jayme’s power seems the most tame, I don’t think she ever struggles to control it, and I doubt it’s caused her much angst beyond maybe being jealous that she doesn’t have a particularly brutal power- Though I could see that genuinely being a real issue for her.

Her power is weirdly most similar to Allison’s in that it’s not that hard to avoid if you know about it, but once she’s used it she’s won. We see she doesn’t get the chance to use it on Ben during their spar, so she could of potentially ended up in situations like that often where her power was pretty much rendered useless and she had to rely more on her wits, her character description did say she was ‘smart and sharp as a knife’.

Marcus

So apparently Marcus and Luther have the same power, Marcus is just better at using it. I like to imagine that both of them had to work really hard just to get to a point where they don’t break everything they hold or seriously injure people with basic physical contact, though as neither of them are cautious about getting rough with people I don’t think either had any major power related accidents.

Marcus is superior now because of his speed and technique (which I choose to believe he got through his own dedication rather than Reginald just training him better), but considering how clumsy Luther’s powers make him, I assume that’s something Marcus did struggle with at one point as well.

Sloane

Sloane seems to have the best relationship with her power out of anyone, she’s at the point where she can just have fun with it, using it to sit on her bedroom roof for instance. Seeing as she seems to be a pretty sensitive person I assume she didn’t have any childhood trauma associated with her power if she’s so comfortable with it now.

Like her umbrella counterpart Five, Sloane also has a lot of physics knowledge so I do wonder if she also needs to do the same kind of calculations and things as him to best use her powers, I don’t think thats really implied but it’d make sense and flesh her out.

Alphonso

Alphonso is interesting for being the only sparrow that isn’t in peak physical condition. Alphonso’s appearance implies that besides the pain his body still experiences the effects of any hit it gets, which I assume would take a toll and really wear him down overtime and could definitely be the cause of that sluggishness of his, and maybe even his need for an inhaler.

I don’t think he could accidentally use his power, since it looks like he needs to consciously activate it (and struggles to do so when exhausted), so I’d say he has an easy enough time managing his power, though he might of had a hard time developing the stamina and concentration he seems to need to use it effectively.

Fei

I’m a little confused about Fei’s power honestly, specifically where her vision is concerned, all the scratches over her eyes seem to indicate that her birds were the ones that blinded her, but throughout the show she’s always perfectly in control of them, they don’t seem to have free will.

I have a half-baked theory that she blinded herself. Something along the lines of her being so overwhelmed when she starts to see out of all the different birds eyes that she has some kind of mental break and blinds herself in a panic while trying to make it stop. But it could also just be that there was a time when her birds had more agency but she’s tamed them overtime.

Anyway, Fei seems to be in (I’m assuming physical) discomfort when her birds are hurt, which is a pretty big weakness. It was probably quite a burden trying to keep them all relatively safe mid-battle, which could play into how she became so calculated.

Christopher

So Christopher’s actual power, that ability to induce this paralysing fear, tends to get overshadowed by the fact that he’s a cube, which doesn’t even seem to even be relevant to his power. But yeah, he appears to be incredibly powerful, he’s able to incapacitate half the umbrellas (including Viktor) seemingly effortlessly, and he’s strong enough to temporarily contain a kugelblitz, so I assume it’s not easy for him to hold back which could of been a problem for him when it comes to things like sparring with his siblings.

If nothing else I’m positive that his inhuman physiology would of caused him a lot of angst throughout his life even if he’s comfortable with it now.

Ben

I am so curious about how Sparrow-Ben ended up with such better control over his powers than Umbrella-Ben. It could be a dominance thing, as number one this Ben was trained to be in charge and maybe that carried over towards the monster inside him. Umbrella-Ben also seemed to have a much lower tolerance for causing people pain, so maybe sparrow-ben and the horror were more in sync as opposed to umbrella-Ben fighting against it, which could of made dealing with it easier.

Regardless I still think Ben must of worked really hard to get the control over his tentacles that he has.

[fraddit]

This is the third and final post in a series of three four about Eddie’s house in 9-1-1.  It covers the covers the bedrooms and bathroom.

part one, part two, part four | Buck’s loft

As on part two, every item I’ve placed in the renderings is based on a corresponding item that has appeared in at least one shot from the show. I’ve done my best to match the style, color, and size of all the items. And, I’m reasonably confident that I’ve gotten pretty close to the actual dimensions, but obviously they’re not exact. Also, again, if you could just pretend I added the crown molding that should be there, I’d really appreciate it.

Christopher’s Room

I didn’t have models to add all of Christopher’s toys and knick knacks and posters, but I managed to get all the furniture.

Christopher’s room has a closet door in the corner and two windows. The window next to the bed looks out to a side yard, while the window over in the corner looks out the front porch and front door. There’s a ceiling fan and a rug with white, blue, and red stripes.

Next to the door into the room is Christopher’s desk.  It’s got a lamp with a star patterned shade and the usual kid desk items such as a bin with markers and glue.  On the wall above is a cork board with has a “Can’t hear you I’m gaming” graphic and a piece of art that’s a tentacle holding a gaming controller pinned to it in s4.

The other art on this wall includes two posters for Yosemite National Park and Redwood National Park and a drawing of a green dinosaur face and a painting of a gray cat.  I assume we’re meant to believe Chris made the dinosaur and cat art.

On the other side, directly in front of the door is a mid-century style dresser. For most of the series so far, there’s a glass animal habitat on top of this dresser. It’s always made up like a fish tank, with rocks on the bottom and plastic plants, but never has water in it, and the only pet they’ve ever mentioned is a hamster. So make of this what you will.

Between s4e08 and s4e13, the terrarium disappears and is replaced by a record player. I have a theory about this change that involves Buck and makes my heart grow three sizes that I discuss in this post here.

Above the dresser are two red, wall-mounted shelves that hold various games and toys and such. Next is the closet door.  For reference, Christopher’s closet and Eddie’s closet sit next to each other between the two rooms.  

Next to that is a three tier wire basket shelf filled with toys. Above that is a display shelf on the wall.

Christopher’s bed is a twin and the frame is rather tall. In s2 it’s a model that has storage drawers beneath it. From s3 on, it’s still tall, but instead has a bed skirt around it. His sheets have vintage world maps printed on them. Above the head of the bed is a display shelf filled with toys and such. Lots of cars and dinosaurs.

In the corner next to the bed is a side cabinet with a lamp. Above that is a lovely fox drawing that isn’t shown until s4, so I assume we’re supposed to believe Christopher drew it. Above that was a gorgeous space mobile.  It disappears in 4x13.  It’s present for the video call between Christopher and Charlie, but is gone in the scene where they are picking things of Christopher’s to give away.  So perhaps the implication is that he gave it to Charlie?

There’s a continuity error in 4x14, where it’s once again present in the video call between Christopher and Eddie.  I assume that’s because they filmed the video call footage with Chris and Carla all at once for both episodes.

Next to the bed on the other side is a large yellow cabinet with stickers all over it. And next to that is a hamper.

It’s not super important, but I’m pretty sure Christopher’s room in the Set House is smaller than the corresponding room in the S2 House.  I’d imagine in reality the exterior wall of Eddie’s room and Chris’s room is just even all the way down in a straight line.

The Bathroom

Until s5e05, I wasn’t sure if they’d built out the set for the bathroom or Eddie’s room because we’d seen neither of them in set form to that point. However, the role of “the apartment of the guy stuck on the toilet” was played by the set for Eddie’s house with some modifications to the living room. You can see in the shot from the hallway below, that it is indeed Eddie’s hallway with the cabinet at the corner.

Also say hi to Tessa in Eddie’s kitchen!

The S2 House’s bathroom likely hadn’t been updated since the 50s except for maybe the shower which could be maybe 80s or later. It has a horrible layout, with a countertop along the entire back wall, under the windows, which is where the sink is. The toilet is squeezed in on the other side of the door.

The Set House bathroom has a slightly different layout the S2 House. It still has the walled shower cubicle just to the right when you enter, but that’s followed by the toilet, and they’ve done away with the full wall of countertop and gone with a pedestal sink. The floors have white hex penny tile and the shower is tiled in a cream tone.

I have to assume they have a hamper and storage, etc along the wall behind the door, like Toilet Guy has. But I wasn’t willing to count his furniture as Eddie’s furniture.

Eddie’s Room

Eddie’s room is tricky. Like I said before, we haven’t actually seen it as a room room in set form. The closest we’ve gotten is him running out of the room for Christopher’s nightmares in s3. (Which, I noticed he was sleeping entirely on top of the the fully made bed for that bit, likely to make it faster for him to get to Chris in the night. So let’s all cry together about Eddie being the best dad ever.)

Anyway, because of that I’m going pretty much entirely off of the S2 House.

Interestingly, the door to Eddie’s room opens out of the room into the hallway. Next to that is the door to the closet. In the brief glimpse we get of Eddie’s doorway in s3, that closet door isn’t there, which is one reason I don’t believe the whole room was actually built out then. They just needed a door for him to run though in the dark.

On the other side of the entry door is the bed, which is either a full or a queen, flanked by matching nightstands with matching lamps. On the wall next to the closet is a dresser with a lamp on it. And above that is a large frame that is at first a mirror and later what seems to be an abstract painting of either a desert or prairie landscape, but I couldn’t get a good enough look at it, so I went with the mirror.

There’s one more mid-century style dresser and a standing floor lamp in the corner between the two windows. And Eddie's room has a ceiling fan like Christopher's.

And there we have it, more words about Eddie Diaz’s house than probably anyone ever wanted to read. If you made it this far, thank you so much for sticking with it. I hope at least some of this is helpful in some way. If nothing else, it was fun for me and now I get to think about all the weird home improvement quirks Eddie likely deals with because his house is like a hundred years old.

That’s all for all three parts!  

part one, part two, part four | Buck’s loft

[merry-thieves]

So, am I the only one who is excited that Alastair is going to wield Cortana in Chain of Thorns?

It doesn’t even feel like that much of a theory since Cordelia basically told us what she did with Cortana:

“Only I need to speak with Alastair first. There is something I must ask him to do.”

“She did not seem to have Cortana with her; she must have laid it away upstairs”

“But the bedroom was empty. The bed was made, corners neatly tucked. Cortana was gone from it’s place on the wall.”

“She had taken nothing with her from the Curzon Street house save what was in her pockets: a few coins, a handkerchief, her stele.”

“Nearly all her life she had dreamed of three things: bearing Cortana, being Lucie’s parabatai, and being loved. She had lost the first two.”

It is safe to assume that she gave Cortana to Alastair before she returned to Curzon Street for obvious reasons. Cassie already told us that the gap between CoI and CoT will be about a week which means that Cordelia and Matthew will still be in Paris, Lucie, Jesse and James will be in Cornwall, and the only ones left in London will be Thomas, Christopher and Alastair (also Charles, Grace and Anna but whatever). 

And I can’t wait to see (read about) the Lightwood cousins telling Alastair everything that happened so far and maybe even having their own small adventure (with Cortana)! 

Not that I think Cordelia shouldn’t have Cortana. Not at all! But I’d also love to see Alastair wield it and surprise the Lightwood cousins.

masterlist

[demieddie]

Hello!!! Love your fics!!! I have a 911 prompt request! What about something along the lines of Buck having won the hot firefighter calendar and it’s months later but he finds it in Eddies room still on his month

anon thank you so much, you're so sweet!!! i apologize about the wait, but i hope it's worth it <3

the camera found chemistry

gen, no archive warnings apply, m/m - buddie, ~1.2k

[read on ao3]

“Of course, that’s our luck,” Eddie pants after the front door slams behind him. “The one time we decide to walk to the park, there’s a freak rainstorm. I thought we left the flash floods in Texas.”

“What, don’t like a little rain? Afraid you’re going to melt away?” Buck teases. “C’mon Christopher, think we can get your dad a little more wet?”

Buck smiles over at Eddie before shaking his head like a dog and covering Eddie and Christopher in droplets.

“Jesus, Buck!” Eddie exclaims while Christopher cackles like a madman. “Here, you two stay here, I’ll grab us some towels.”

Buck watches as Eddie kicks off his shoes and socks and walks down to the laundry room.

“You good there, Superman?” Buck asks. “A little rain isn’t going to ruin your day?”

“No way!” Christopher giggles, before looking up at Buck wide-eyed. “That just means we can play more video games, right?”

Buck smiles and shakes his head slightly. “You drive a hard bargain, kid. How about we ask your dad?”

“Ask dad what?” Eddie says, appearing from down the hall. He hands Buck and Christopher a towel each while running his own through his hair. They each start drying off.

Christopher turns his puppy eyes from Buck to Eddie. “Can I get an extra hour of video games tonight?”

“I guess that can be arranged,” Eddie relents. “But first, you have to change into some dry clothes, alright?”

Christopher nods and then heads to his room.

“He got that from you, you know,” Eddie says, casually.

“Got what?”

“That pouty face. It’s the same one you pull when we’re trying to figure out pizza orders.”

Buck’s eyebrows furrow, although he can’t protest that he has — maybe once or twice — pouted about pizza orders in the Diaz residence. Christopher went on a kick a few months back where veggie pizza was the only type he would eat, and, while Buck loves that Christopher is willingly eating vegetables, he personally cannot stand hot tomato slices. He’s always hated them, and yes, Eddie, hot whole tomatoes are much different than hot tomato-based sauces. Hence the pouting.

Buck’s about to make a tomato-related comment when he shuffles his feet and feels his sock squish beneath his toes.

“Hey, do you mind if I borrow some dry clothes?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course, you know where everything is,” Eddie responds. “Bring out your clothes too and we can toss everything in the dryer."

Buck nods in thanks before heading towards the bedroom. He thinks he might still have a hoodie and sweats here, both old and ratty but were perfect when he was helping Eddie through his recovery.

He turns the corner into Eddie’s room and starts stripping almost immediately after closing the door. He quickly peels off his socks and tosses off his shirt. Figuring Eddie wouldn’t mind if he borrowed some old socks and a t-shirt, he makes his way to the dresser.

Any thought of getting dressed, however, is thwarted when he notices the calendar sitting on top. It’s folded in half, only displaying the month instead of the image, which, considering Eddie’s practicality, Buck doubts he even glanced at what the calendar was before buying it. This theory flies out the window when Buck notices it’s a couple of months behind, still sitting on May when they’re already halfway through July.

He picks it up, noting that there’s nothing written anywhere on the page, and unfolds it. Then sees his own face staring back at him, also shirtless.

His application last year to the LAFD fundraising calendar had been more of a joke than anything. It’d been years since their initial friendly — or not so friendly sometimes on Buck’s part — competition, so, when Bobby announced that applications were open, Buck threw in some photos without thinking about it. He’d even forgotten it by the time he got the email asking for his availability.

So, he’s a little shocked now to find the photo of him smouldering at the camera while propping a fire axe across his shoulders.

“Wait, Buck,” Eddie says, bursting through the door with wide eyes. “I just need to — oh, you found it.”

Buck holds up the calendar. He can’t let himself hope. “Why?”

Eddie’s eyes grow even wider, and he takes a deep but quick breath. Just when Buck thinks he’s not going to get any more response than that, Eddie starts shaking his head minutely.

“Eddie,” Buck says gently, trying to pull Eddie out of whatever train of thought he’s falling down. “I don’t mind, I just need words. You know how bad things get without words.”

Eddie’s face pinches slightly at the mention of those few months where Eddie left the 118. It’s not something Buck likes reminding them of, but he’s relieved that this at least has pulled Eddie out of his spiral.

“Why is this calendar in your room and two months behind, Eds?” Buck asks softly.

Eddie ducks his head and mumbles something that Buck doesn’t catch. Buck takes a small step forward.

“Eddie?”

“I said, it’s in here because you look unfairly good in that photo,” Eddie blurts out, finally looking Buck in the eyes.

“Yeah?” Buck prompts with a small smile. He just might let himself hope now. Either way, he feels the ironclad grip loosen slightly.

Eddie nods.

The ironclad grip turns to a single string.

“Unfairly good as in I’m your new gym motivation or unfairly good as I want to jump your —“

“As in I’m in love with you.”

The string breaks.

Buck reaches out and draws Eddie into him. He brings his hand up to Eddie’s cheek, tilting his face up.

“This okay?” Buck asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie responds, breathless.

Buck barely manages to smile before he’s crashing their lips together. Between the scratch of stubble under his palm, the featherlight sweep of the hand along his back, and the mixed rough-soft of Eddie’s chapped lips against his, Buck can't think of anything beyond Eddie. He’s moving his other hand to tangle in Eddie’s damp hair and–

“Dad!” Christopher calls. “Can we start the video games now?”

Buck pulls back a little, resting his forehead against Eddie, and chuckles.

“Duty calls,” he says.

“It does,” Eddie responds. Buck can’t help but lean back in for a quick kiss — just because he can. Eddie reluctantly pulls back further, although not quite breaking their grip on each other.

“Okay, I need to go get everything set up, and you need to finish getting dry.”

Buck nods, slowly removing his arms from around Eddie.

“We’ll finish this later, right?” Buck asks.

“Definitely, you can stay the night too, if you want,” Eddie offers with a smile. After Buck nods, he continues. “Anyway, I need to get to the kid. And you need to put on a shirt, if not for your own warmth, then for my sanity.”

[keegsmcclue]

Another theory:

Taylor gets a job offer in NY. Asks Buck to go with. Even though he doesn't really want to, in his mind he's struggling with coming up with a reason to stay.

Maddie is gone. Chimney is gone and probably hates him. He and Eddie haven't spoken outside of dispatch calls since he left. He hasn't seen Chris in person in weeks, just texts and video calls -- something that wouldn't be effected with a move to NY. There are other stations in NY. Eddie is no long constantly im danger, he doesn't need a back up plan anymore (cause that's what buck thinks he was: a back up plan).

He accepts because someone is asking him to come this time.

Maybe it's something offered in the beginning of 5b but Taylor isn't leaving right away so he had time to think and answer. He finally decides to go on the last few episodes of the season.

That's why his apartment is packed. Then Maddie comes in with Jee. They talk -- he reveals he doesn't actually want to leave but for once someone in his life is choosing him back and he doesn't... want to lose that.

And Maddie calls him out on it that being a bad reason to stay in a relationship your heart isn't truly in. And then asks if Buck had a told Eddie if he was leaving. Aaaand he simply says "I wrote him and Chris a letter. I can't -- if i told them in person, Chris would ask me to stay and I wouldn't be able to say no."

And Maddie goes "you don't think Eddie would ask you to stay?"

And buck thinks back on the months of distance, going all the way back to probably even before the shooting. And he isn't sure what Eddie would do.

On his way to the station, he puts the letters in the mailbox. And goes to work. It's not a full shift and he'll be home in the morning. When he does, he goes straight to sleep.

Then his phone rings. It's Christopher. He's worried about his dad, and he wants buck to come over. Buck is out of bed in an instant.

He gets there, Chris is anxiously waiting for him by the door. He got home from school, there were things smashed, and when he went to check on his dad in his bedroom, he was crying with a baseball bat. So Chris called Buck.

Buck calls Carla to come get Chris, and then when they're gone, he goes to check on Eddie. When he opens the door, he sees Eddie on the ground, visibly upset but not like in the promo yet. He's hugging the baseball bat, his knuckles are bloody, and Buck gently says his name.

And Eddie, he looks up, and just -- that's when he starts sobbing. He starts sobbing and he asks him to stay.

[stagefoureddiediaz]

its a momentus day!!!

there were no dinosaur/dinosaur themed things on view in Christophers room - and there was lots of space themed things - like everywhere - all the space themed things - the mobile, posters, figurines!

not to mention the fact that the fox has gone and been replaced by a poster that is for something with a title ...NADEERS which has tv show vibes written all over it - heroes or Roswell like if you ask me (esp heroes and I'm currently going with the working theory that its a bit of a fun poke at Ryan from the set and props dept 😂)

also - shout out to there still being a fire truck toy in his room - and I'm especially loving the Aladdins lamp trophy (and the fact it looks very very like the one from the Disney movie 😂😂😂)

[carocane]

Fight For You

Flufftober Day 10 - Pillow Fight

@flufftober2021

9-1-1

Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Video game night at the Diaz house is always a fun time. The air is filled with laughter and teasing jokes, along with the scent of pizza and popcorn. 

“You take that back, Edmundo. That’s not how it happened and you know it.”

“That is exactly how it happened. Would I lie to my child? I’m telling Christopher how you lost at Mario Kart earlier today.”

“Hen cheated. You saw it!”

“Being better than you is not cheating.”

“That’s it, you’re gonna get it now,” Buck declares. 

“Oh yeah, what are you-” one of the small pillows from the couch hits him square in the face before Eddie can finish that sentence. 

Christopher is laughing at their antics while Eddie sits stunned and Buck looks smug. He takes one look at Buck's face and vows to wipe that look off of it. Eddie grabs the larger pillow from behind his back to give Buck a firm wack on top of his head. 

They all might be a little hyped up from an evening of junk food and video games. It’s been awhile since they’ve had a night like this. Both men had been busy with their respective girlfriends but those relationships have recently ended and it’s back to being just the boys. They’ve found they kind of prefer it this way.

So the boys have gotten together at Eddie’s for a night like they used to have. Buck has just once again lost at Mario Kart, this time to Christopher, and Eddie took the opportunity to tease his best friend about his video game skills, or lack thereof.

He got a pillow to the face for his teasing, which is fair but he won’t tell Buck that. He stands and scoops Christopher up, though his son is getting a bit too big for it. He’ll take advantage of it while he still can. 

Christopher is giggling madly in his arms and Buck has hopped up off the couch with a battle cry of “pillow fight!!!” to chase them with the pillow he still has clutched in his hand. Eddie dodges around the coffee table and runs around the back of the couch, snagging the large back cushion as he goes. He and Christopher flee down the hall with Buck close on their heels. 

Eddie’s reflexes are pretty good, if he does say so himself. He manages to turn and slip under Buck’s raised arm, heading back for the living room. Buck takes a moment to orient himself and turn to continue after them. 

Buck is faster than Eddie thought and he gets a soft pillow lightly tapped to the back of his head. Eddie twists and falls onto the couch with Christopher tucked safely to his side. Buck stands above them with his arm raised and a devilish grin, prepared to strike again. Eddie has no problem shamelessly using his child to his advantage and quickly ducks his head under Christopher’s back, much to the kid’s delight.

“You wouldn’t risk hitting Christopher would you?” Eddie asks Buck, knowing what the answer will be. There’s no way Buck would hit Christopher in his quest to get to Eddie.

“Buck would never hurt me,” the kid says with confidence.

“Of course not. Because Christopher is on my side,” Buck responds as he pulls Christopher out of Eddie’s hold and into his own. The two look down at the man still on the couch, smiling triumphantly. 

Eddie leaps up with his own pillow in hand and the chase is once again on. This is the most fun he’s had in a long time and it’s thanks to the man chasing him around the room with his son in his arms. Eddie takes off for his own room to grab the fluffy pillows from his bed. Those should make a satisfying weapon. 

He’s proven right on that theory when Buck steps into the bedroom and Eddie slides out from behind the door where he’d been hiding. His pillows make a nice “thunk” on Buck’s back. Score one for Eddie.

Eddie whirls around and sprints out of the room, glancing back to see where Buck and Christopher are. They’re still in the middle of the bedroom but Eddie can tell they won’t be there for long. 

His son’s shout of “Get him, Buck!” has them quickly following him back to the main areas of the house. 

Soon, the house has been transformed into a war zone with bases set up on either side of the living room and pillows and cushions strewn all over the room. Christopher’s allegiance shifts on a whim and he goes back and forth between his dad and his Buck. They’re of course extra careful with him but this is all in fun. They’re not actually trying to hurt each other. 

The war is brief but fierce and eventually a truce is called. They all collapse onto the couch, Eddie somehow ending up in the middle between his favorite people. They’re all still laughing and trying to catch their breath after all the chaos. 

They calm down after a few minutes and decide to turn on a movie, all too tired for more video games at the moment. A few minutes in and Eddie glances over to see that Christopher is sound asleep. Eddie takes off his glasses to make him more comfortable and settles them onto the end table next to him.

He turns to Buck to comment about Christopher falling asleep and finds him closer than he thought he would be. They’re sitting with their arms touching and when Eddie looks up and over, Buck’s face just inches from his own.

“Hey” he breathes out, suddenly struck by how blue Buck’s eyes are and how long his eyelashes appear. He’s had the odd thought here and there about how attractive Buck is but he notices even more now. After the fun of the pillow fight this evening and now the peace and comfort they’ve settled into. 

Before he can blink, he feels something soft and squishy hit the back of his head. Buck’s arm came up and smacked him with the smallest throw pillow one more time while he was distracted falling into his eyes. He softly tackles Buck back into the couch cushions and kisses him with all the affection he feels surging through him, mindful of the sleeping child on the other end of the couch.

The moment their lips touch, everything in Eddie’s world falls into place. This is where they’ve been leading the whole time they’ve known each other. This is where they’re meant to be. 

Eddie gives Buck one more lingering kiss before pulling his head back to check if his partner is on the same page. He’s not a bit surprised to see the love and contentment shining back at him.

Eddie moves back to his spot on the couch, though much closer to Buck this time. They get comfortable cuddling on the few pillows remaining on the couch behind them to watch the rest of the movie. 

The mess scattered around the living room can wait for later, Eddie doesn’t plan to move from his new favorite spot until he absolutely has to. Probably to put Christopher to bed. Maybe Buck will help tuck him in. Then they can go to bed themselves. That sounds just about perfect to Eddie.

[evanbuckley-heartofgold]

heyyy can you pretty please write a fic about buck ranting about something he loves to chris like super excitedly and then eddie overhearing and being soooo in love?

I’m sorry it took me so long to answer this prompt! I hope you enjoy! <3

Read on ao3

Eddie sighs heavily as he walks into his house. It’s been a long day full of non-stop calls, plus Buck had the day off today. Shifts without Buck always seemed to drag on longer. But being home makes it better. Knowing that he’s only seconds away from seeing his son and his boyfriend makes it better.

He toes off his shoes, dropping his bag by the entryway. He’ll trip on it in the morning, he always does, but right now Eddie doesn’t care in the slightest. Walking into the living room, Eddie sees that the tv is paused, the blankets all a mess and tell tale food wrappers are on the coffee table.

A quick glance at the clock confirms Eddie’s suspicions that Buck is in the process of getting Christopher ready for bed. Sure enough not a second later he hears voices coming from the direction of Chris’s bedroom.

Eddie follows the voices, but stays quiet, hoping to catch even a little bit of Buck talking to Chris. Over the past few months, Eddie has found the one most endearing thing in the world, Buck and Chris together.

“But they were super skilled hikers and skiers,” Buck is saying. “Which makes people think that there’s something bigger at play, you know? Why did they pitch their tent wrong, why did they go out in the snow without their gear? It’s crazy.” Eddie frowns, obviously hearing the middle of a conversation that he has no clue where it started. “And then all these people started to come up with dozens and dozens of theories about what they think happened. There’s a theory it was the abominable snowman that scared them from their tent.”

“What’s that?” Chris asks.

“Oh, it’s like Bigfoot, but for the mountains and the snow and stuff,” Buck explains. There’s the sound of rustling fabric, probably Buck adjusting the blankets around Chris.

“Did they ever figure out what happened to them?” Chris asks.

“Well, not really. There’s a lot of theories, but there’s no way for anyone to really know what happened to them.”

“Wow.” Chris sounds in awe, he usually does when Buck tells him stories.

“I know, buddy!” Eddie can hear the smile in Buck’s voice. After a moment of silence, Eddie decides to walk into Chris’s bedroom. He finds Buck sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling the covers up to Chris’s chest.

When Eddie walks in both of them light up with big smiles. Eddie quickly takes a seat on the other side of the bed. Chris immediately sits up to hug him. Eddie drops a kiss to his son’s hair as he reaches over to squeeze Buck’s hand.

“How was your day?” Eddie asks Christopher. He spends the next few minutes hearing about Chris’s science project and math test and a whole slew of other classes.

When they wish Chris goodnight and walk back to the living room, Buck asks, “How was work?”

Eddie sighs, “Long day. I’m just glad to be home.” As they sit down, Eddie wraps his arm around Buck’s shoulder. “What were you talking to Chris about earlier?”

“Oh, uh,” Buck rubs the back of his neck, “just something I was reading about earlier today. It doesn’t matter.”

“Buck,” Eddie shifts to face him, “you were obviously really excited about it.” He bumps Buck’s shoulder. “Tell me about it.”

“Are you sure?” Buck asks. “You know I can get rambly.”

Eddie smiles, “I know and I love it.” he rests his chin on his hand. “I’m all ears, Buckley.”

Buck grins. As he starts talking, gradually picking up speed as he gets more and more excited about what he’s saying, Eddie feels himself fall deeper in love with him. With the way Buck’s hands move to emphasize certain points, how he hardly gets tripped up as he rambles, and the glow in his eyes as he talks about something that so clearly excites him.

Buck tells Eddie all about how nine Russian hikers vanished in the middle of a hike through the most dangerous mountains in Russia only to be found later in a slew of strange positions. After giving him the basics of the story, he starts to talk about all the different theories of what happened, where they came from, which ones seem likely, and which one Buck thinks is the truth.

Eddie is in awe. It’s clear that Buck knows a lot about this subject. He talks about the science behind some of the theories and avalanches and wind temperatures and hypothermia. Buck only stops talking a few times, checking with Eddie that it’s okay if he keeps talking. Eddie assures him that it is and gets Buck back to talking after asking a question or two.

When Buck’s ramble comes to an end after about twenty minutes, Eddie just smiles at him with the softest eyes imaginable. “I love you so much.”

Buck rolls his eyes, “I just spent half an hour lecturing you on an unsolved mystery from the ‘70s. Are you sure about that?” He laughs a little.

Eddie puts his hand on Buck’s cheek, “I love you.” Buck blinks for a second. “I love you rambling about the things you love. It doesn’t annoy me.”

Buck looks at him unsurely, “Are you sure?”

Eddie kisses him, “I’m sure.”

[winterscaptain]

priorities.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral AFAB!Reader

a/n: a lil bitty outtake from the end of faith! requires absolutely no ajf context and is just some good stuff for the grown-ups! I included the end of faith, just for a little setup. 

words: 1.5 warnings: smut (fingering, cockwarming [we’re finally trying it!], desk sex, chair sex, penetrative sex w/out a condom), Aaron Hotchner Being Sweet™, Aaron Hotchner Being a Lawyer™

summary: apparently, a supreme court decision is more important than you. 

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

He looks over his reading glasses, and his eyes light up. “Welcome home.” 

You offer him a warm smile as you cross his office and round his desk. “Hi.” 

Aaron drops his pen and pulls you close by your hips, and you lean on the side of his chair. “How was the case?”

“I would hate to spoil Emily’s report that will inevitably be about three hours late getting to your desk on Tuesday.” 

He raises his eyebrows. “I see.” His hand drops down to the outside of your thigh, and you swing a leg over his chair to straddle him, getting situated on his lap. “You know, I still have work to do.” 

“What? Is this Supreme Court decision more interesting than me?”

He shrugs, leaning forward again and picking up his file. His chin hooks over your shoulder, and you settle against his chest as he continues to read. With a sigh, he says, “You’re wearing an awful lot of clothes for someone who wants something specific.” 

You huff. “Oh, c’mon. It’s not like I’m getting any in here.” 

“You don’t know that.” His voice is even, almost distracted, but when you shift over him you can tell he’s affected. “Something might surprise you.” 

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

He takes another breath and, just like he’s done so many times before, says, “Sweetheart, I’m not suggesting anything.” 

You smile against his shoulder and slide off of him, removing your slacks and undergarments in one fell swoop. Bare before him, you straddle him again, feeling the soft fabric of his sweats against your sex. 

He’s hardly moved, only leaning back to let you go and resuming his position once you’ve returned, the law review still in his hands. 

“What did you have in mind, Chief Hotchner?”

A hand leaves his desk and trails over your hip and lower back. “I came across this...thing and figured I’d ask if you wanted to try it.”

You raise your eyebrows, though he can’t see your face at the moment. “Oh?”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “What if...I gave you what you want -“ In case it was unclear, he thrusts his hips up just a touch, his hardness pressing into you. You tighten your thighs around him. “- but you don’t get to move until I’m done with my reading.”

You lean back. “Really?”

“From what I’ve read, it’s something people like. Want to try it?”

“What happens if I move?”

He’s still not looking at you, even though you’ve leaned back to meet his eyes - the law review has just increased altitude so he can still see it over your shoulder. “Traditionally, there’s some kind of punishment involved in these dynamics, but I don’t think you need punishing.” The offhand delivery of his observation makes a rush of heat flow through you, and you just know you’re even wetter than you were before. “I think we just see how long we can stand it and then I’ll spread you out over this desk when I’ve had enough.” 

All the breath leaves you in a shaky exhale, and you loop your arms over his shoulders, playing with the hair on the back of his neck. “Okay.”

He drops a hand between you, purposefully brushing over your clit as he undoes the button fly on his pants. He frees himself, and it takes everything in you not to move as he coats his cock with your wetness, two fingers, then three, pushing into you. The sound of his fingers moving in your soaked pussy informs you he’ll have no problem slipping into you to the hilt. Nevertheless, he reaches into a drawer for a bit of lube, pressing a kiss to your neck as he slicks himself up for you. Your mouth drops open, completely floored by his forethought.

How long has he been planning this?

You lift up and his eyes never leave yours as he guides himself into you. Both of you let out deeply affected breath, and a whimper chases your sighs. He’s deep - bottoming out and then some as you sink all the way down until your thighs are flush with his lap. 

The muscles of your abdomen jump, seeking any kind of movement. He shushes you, pressing a hand to your lower back and l tilting your hips just so. The change in angle forces your lips between your teeth. You can feel him everywhere. 

“Relax, baby.” His low murmur reminds you to breathe, and you do your best to let your body drop into him, your clothed chests melting together as if you were built for each other. 

He continues to read, but his cock twitches and flexes within you every once in a while. You inadvertently pulse in response, fluttering around him. Each time, a hiss leaves him from between his teeth. The effect you have on him is insanely hot, and you know he can feel how wet you are, even with his lack of movement. 

The hand on your back begins a slow circuit, traveling from your lower back, to your shoulders, down your ribs, over your hips, and back again. You remind yourself to relax, resisting the urge to roll your hips in time with his hand. 

After about fifteen minutes (an era, really), his hips start to move the smallest amount, pushing up just enough to make hot sparks of pleasure fly up and down your body. You tighten your arms around his shoulders and relax your legs. The feeling is ineffable - you’ve never been split so deep in your life. 

Don’t move. Don’t move. 

His breathing gets a little heavier in your ear as he swivels his hips in a miniscule version of that twist that always brings you close to the edge in seconds. 

“Aaron…” You press his name into his neck, and he huffs something that sounds like a laugh. 

“Not done, yet, my love. Be patient.”

You’ve always known his stamina is incredible, but you’re almost in awe of how rock hard he still is inside you, how he’s been buried to the hilt in your tight, wet, heat for close to twenty minutes without breaking a sweat. 

In fairness, he’s outlasted you every single time, never once leaving you bereft or wanting (unless it was on purpose). His size and skill, both impressive metrics outlining his prowess in bed, both pale in comparison to his control. 

You do your best not to whine, but you’re reaching a breaking point. Your patience is rewarded when, only a few minutes later, he flips the pages back to the beginning and sets them aside. You can feel one foot, then the other, search for the wheel locks of his desk chair (a necessity, you figured out very early on) and engage them. 

He presses kisses to your neck, still moving just the smallest amount inside you. Your legs are already shaking, your body a bowstring - wound and aching for release. You lean back to give him access to your mouth, and he laves you in soft kisses, his tongue sliding against yours. He holds you close to his chest, his hands sliding down your back and around your hips. 

You move under the guidance of his hands, rolling over him, your thighs still flush against his lap. He’s thrusting up into you for real now, knowing exactly what you like. With a hand braced on his shoulder, you drop a hand down to your clit, already impossibly close. 

“I’m gonna come really fast if you keep doing that,” you say through a laugh. 

He lets out a laugh that’s a little bit of a snarl, and only increases his pace, helping you meet him thrust for thrust. “That’s alright, love. Take what you need.” He kisses your throat. “I missed you.”

You gasp at his words and he drops his head to your chest, solely focused on you. As promised, only moments later, your orgasm crests over you and you pull your pleasure from him, your hips setting a bruising pace against him. His name falls from your mouth, and one of his hands crawls up the back of your shirt, cradling you close. His breath is hot on your neck and he covers you in sweet, reverent kisses. 

As you’re coming down, he rises, setting you on his desk. You let your legs fall open, showing off for him as he looks down at you. 

His brow crumples as he watches you, ravaged and fallen apart before him. “I love how you feel,” he whispers, like it’s a secret. His eyes close and he slows his pace, savoring you with his hands on your thighs. You clench around him, reaching out with your fingertips. With his current position, you’re just able to brush the skin below his navel, feeling the coarse hair there. 

He takes you slowly, and you find most of your enjoyment watching him fall into you. Eyes closed, his hands reach for yours and lace your fingers together. Leaning over you, he brings your joined hands above your head, pressing kisses to your neck and collarbones. 

When his peak washes over him, the sweetest sound of relief leaves his chest. His hands leave your grasp and glide down your arms, your sides, your hips. From there, his hands assist you as you sit up, his fingers splayed over your shoulders and spine. 

Your arms settle around his shoulders, and you press your face into his neck with a satisfied hum. “That was really fun.”

He chuckles. “Loathsome in theory, but definitely fun in practice.” A kiss is pressed to your temple, and he lifts you from the desk, still inside you. 

You know you’re both creating a trail of nefarious substances on the floor as he walks down the hall to your bedroom, but knowing Aaron, he’ll deal with it before he settles into bed.

You’re loved. You know it. 

+++

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[cassandraclare]

The Anniversary Party

Someone asked me about the flash fiction this month, and I realized I’d sent it out in my newsletter, but forgotten to post it! So here’s the whole Jan/Feb story, in which we get a bit of background on Cordelia and her family. Art by Cassandra Jean, of course! This is the last of the flash fiction stories, and it’s been a pleasure to share them with you!

THE ANNIVERSARY PARTY

FRANCE, 1899....

Cordelia did not like Menton very much. She should have, in theory. Menton was a pretty seaside town, a jumble of pink and yellow buildings along a small harbor, mostly slips for sailboats and some fishing boats. The air was warm and Mediterranean, the fish was exceptionally fresh, she could see Italy from her bedroom window across the far side of the harbor. What was there not to like?

They had come for her father’s health—why else did they go anywhere, after all—and Cordelia could understand why Menton had a reputation as a healing destination for the sick and the elderly. Indeed, her father’s health had rebounded since their arrival a few weeks earlier and he was in a period of good spirits, willing to dance with her in the parlor and even managing to drag a smile out of Alastair on occasion. Alastair had entered a turbulent adolescence, as Cordelia overheard her mother say to her father. Cordelia hoped that when she was Alastair’s age she would maintain her composure a little better than he was managing.

But Menton’s charms quickly faded for her. Its popularity with the sick and the elderly meant that the town’s population had a large proportion of both, and while Cordelia wished them all well, they did not offer her much in the way of companions or even adults interested in conversation with a girl for whom French was her third language, and not very strong. The beach turned out to be made not of sand but of large round pebbles—Cordelia had never heard of such a thing, a beach made of rocks, very uncomfortable on bare feet, not pleasant to lie on, and offering no opportunity for building castles or digging trenches.

Worst of all, her parents continued to be as antisocial as ever, making no efforts to reach out to the local Shadowhunter community (the closest Institute being in Marseilles). And so Cordelia was alone. Sometimes she was alone with Alastair, but he mostly ignored her, and even so they were both duly sick of each other’s sole company after a week.

The only source of relief was the knowledge that this, too, would pass—the Carstairs family moved constantly, obsessively, for the sake of her father’s health. Cordelia could never understand the logic of it, except that she agreed that it was worth doing anything if it meant her father’s wellbeing. In this case, it was a bit of a relief. She knew they would not stay in Menton more than a few months.

This was, she felt, why she was so alone. Her family never stayed anywhere long enough for her to meet anyone her age, much less make friends. Her only real friends in the world were Lucie and James Herondale, and only because, Cordelia knew, Will and Tessa Herondale had always worked very hard to make sure that their children saw the younger Carstairs. It was still a rare treat to see them, as the Herondales ran the London Institute, and thus were usually in London, and occasionally in Idris, while Cordelia and her family were all over the map.

And here again, the Herondales came to her rescue, this time in the form of a letter her father read aloud at the breakfast table.

“’Good morning, Elias and Sona,’ – I say, how would he know what time of day we’d read it, the man is mad as a hatter—”

“We are reading it in the morning, though,” Cordelia said. Her father gave her an indulgent smile and went on.

“’It is a capital day here in London, and I hope it will be a capital day in Paris six weeks hence, when Tessa and I will celebrate our nineteenth wedding anniversary. As it is not the custom of any known culture to make a to-do out of the nineteenth wedding anniversary, we have decided to throw an enormous party.’”

“A ball!” cried Cordelia, but a worry poked at her. Would her parents attend such a thing? Her father was frowning at the letter, but possibly he was simply trying to make the words out better without his glasses.

“It’s not a ball,” said Alastair, who had stopped halfway down the stairway to listen.

“’A ball, if you will,’” her father read on. “Well done, Cordelia.”

Cordelia stuck out her tongue at Alastair.

“’We would love if you and your darling children would join us…if you would do us the pleasure of responding…,’ et cetera, et cetera…” Her father scanned the letter. “And then it has the date and the address and all that.”

“It started out strong, but it ended in something of an anticlimax,” Alastair said.

“Can we go?” Cordelia said eagerly. “Can we please? I would so like to see Lucie and James. And maybe  I’d meet some of the people Lucie talks about in her letters!”

“I would like to see anyone at all other than you lot,” said Alastair mildly. “No offense intended.”

“Alastair!” Sona scolded, but Cordelia was not about to let Alastair distract from the main point. She redoubled her efforts in the direction of her father.

“Papa, can we go, please? You’ve recovered so well, surely a trip of only a few days would be possible. Don’t you want Shadowhunter society to see how well you are?”

“Hm,” her father said. He looked at her mother, who looked back. They exchanged a series of incomprehensible looks with one another.

“If you think it would be a good idea,” Sona said to Elias. Cordelia’s father gave Cordelia a long look. Cordelia tried to catch Alastair’s eye, but he’d turned away and was looking with disgust into the middle distance, a typical expression for him these days.

“I think we could manage a train trip and a few days in Paris,” her father allowed. “I do adore Paris.”

Cordelia threw her arms around him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

#

Cordelia spent the next weeks in a state of constant dread. She didn’t dare remind her parents of the upcoming trip, lest they remember that they had intended to cancel and not attend after all. It had happened before, but never before for an event in which Cordelia had a strong investment.

But when the event was a few days away, her father brought up the timetable of the Calais-Méditerrannée Express train at breakfast. Tickets were bought, bags packed, and still Cordelia could barely believe it when she found herself the evening before the party, pulling into the Gare du Nord in an elegant blue train car, clutching her hands in her lap in anticipation: Paris, at last she was in Paris! She would see her future parabatai, and her brother, and the cream of Shadowhunter society, and she would do so in Paris.

The next day found her gazing into the full-length mirror in their rooms at the Hôtel Continental on the Rue de Rivoli and wondering that she was even the same girl who had been miserably pining away a few days before. Her mother had helped her select her dress, a frothy lemon confection of lace and silk. She wasn’t entirely sure it suited her, but it was very elegant.

Even Alastair regarded her with something in the neighborhood of admiration when he came in to fetch his gloves. “You look surprisingly mature,” he told her. Cordelia thought that was probably equivalent to a full swoon, for Alastair. For his part, he was clearly aiming at “mature” as well, having put on a brown sack coat with only one of its buttons buttoned, and having dared to apply a dab of pomade to his black hair, which, Cordelia had to admit, did make it shine compellingly.

“You look like you’ll be trying to impress someone at the party,” Cordelia teased him. “Anyone in particular?”

“Everyone,” Alastair sniffed. “Everyone that is anyone.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes.

Her father was in high spirits as they entered the carriage a short time later, joking and laughing. Her mother was quiet, watching her husband with a smile and a considering expression, and that is how they were for the entire ride to the Paris Institute.

#

She had been practicing her French, and when the imposing figure of Madame Bellefleur greeted them at the Institute door with a paragraph of rapid-fire enthusiasm and questions, she understood them: welcome, how was their journey, isn’t it frightfully chilly tonight. She began to think of a reply, and found that her entire speaking ability in the French language had departed her brain in exactly that moment.

Her father’s French was fluid and expert, and Cordelia felt a little rush of pride as he said, “Madame Bellefleur, dear! You are looking as lovely as ever, Odile. But what has become of you, that you’ve fallen so far to be working the door?”

Madame Bellefleur laughed, a hearty chuckle that made Cordelia like her immediately. “I sent the maid off to enjoy herself. I like answering the door, Elias — it may be the Herondales’ party, but it’s my Institute.”

Inside, Cordelia slipped away from her parents as soon as it was feasible and went to look for her friends. It took her all of five minutes to become hopelessly lost. Unlike any Institute she had been in before, this one was laid out as a labyrinthine series of interconnected salons. Each looked much like the last, and was crowded with adults, none of whom Cordelia knew, and most of whom were speaking in rapid French. She had not spotted a single Herondale, and the clatter and chatter of the party guests was beginning to make her feel less like a young sophisticate at the ball and more like a little girl who had lost her mother at the market.

Out of nowhere came a whirlwind of petticoats, which turned out happily to be Lucie Herondale, throwing herself into Cordelia’s arms with great force and a squeal of delight. “Cordelia, Cordelia, you must come, Christopher is going to teach us how to eat fire!”

“I’m sorry?” Cordelia said politely, but Lucie was already pulling her toward the door to the next salon. “Who is Christopher?”

“Christopher Lightwood, of course. My cousin. He saw a man eating fire in Covent Garden and he said he’d worked out how to do it. He’s very scientific, Christopher.” Lucie’s progress was stopped short, and Cordelia looked up to see a tall, slender older girl, with dark hair braided atop her head and a striking look. She was wearing a lacy blue dress without much enthusiasm. She raised her eyebrows and stared Lucie down. “And this is his sister Anna,” Lucie said, as though she’d planned the encounter.

“Christopher will not be eating any fire,” said Anna, “or indeed anything other than the canapes tonight.”

Lucie said, “Anna, this is Cordelia Carstairs; she’s going to be my parabatai.” Cordelia felt a rush of affection for her friend—she felt so alone so much of the time, but she wasn’t, not really. She was going to have a parabatai; neither she nor Lucie would ever fully be alone again. Or that’s how she had come to understand it would feel.

Anna, however, merely arched an eyebrow. “Not if Christopher burns the Institute down, she won’t.” She turned her piercing gaze onto Cordelia. “Carstairs?” she said curiously. “What Carstairs?”

Cordelia knew what that was about. She gave Anna a smile. “Jem Carstairs is my second cousin. I only know him a very little bit, unfortunately.” Jem, who had been Lucie’s father’s parabatai, had a long and tragic story that ended with his having become a Silent Brother. He was Brother Zachariah now.

Would he be here? It was strange to imagine among the sparkling, laughing conversation, the clinking of glasses, a parchment-robed silent figure drifting about. But why wouldn’t he be? Lucie spoke of him all the time. Cordelia felt a little frisson of nerve at the thought of meeting him again—eagerness but also worry.

“Any Carstairs is welcome,” Anna smiled back airily. “And obviously any parabatai of Lucie’s is essentially a member of the family. Speaking of which.” She turned back to Lucie. “Don’t encourage Christopher, Lucie. You know how he is.”

“It wasn’t my idea!” Lucie protested. “It’s Matthew who set him on it. You know how he is.”

“I don’t,” said Cordelia mildly.

Lucie gave her a look of wide-eyed horror. “Oh, dear, what kind of host am I? Here is my best friend in the world, and I haven’t even introduced you to everyone! Anna, we must go.” She reached for Cordelia’s hand again.

“It was lovely to meet you,” Cordelia said to Anna.

Anna tipped her glass in Cordelia’s direction with a small smile. “Likewise.”

“All right,” Lucie narrated as she pulled Cordelia into yet another salon. “Matthew is Matthew Fairchild, he’s the consul’s son but don’t worry, he’s all right and not a bit stuck-up about it, and anyway Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Henry ran the London Institute when my Papa was young—he lived there, you know—and they’re over there, actually, hullo Aunt Charlotte!” Lucie waved a hand madly.

Cordelia looked over and quickly spotted Charlotte Fairchild—even someone as socially deprived as she was recognized the Consul—who was in the middle of saying something very serious to a group of equally serious-looking people, and didn’t notice Lucie’s wave. It was funny; Charlotte was tiny, bird-like, and towered over by the men around her, but she had a presence that dominated the room regardless. It was an admirable way to be, Cordelia thought.

Next to Charlotte was a red-headed man in a Bath chair, who did see Lucie wave, and waved back madly himself with a grin. Henry Fairchild. He was too far away for them to speak, but Lucie pointed at Cordelia and raised her eyebrows. Henry raised his hands and exclaimed in pleasure, and Cordelia waved too, a little less madly than the others.

“Is that Matthew with them?” Cordelia said. “The tallish one with his father’s hair?”

Lucie snorted. “Oh no! Matthew would be so offended. That’s his older brother Charles. He’s, well….”

“What?” said Cordelia.

“He’s a little dull.” Lucie had the good manners to look ashamed at her admission. “He’s very interested in politics and Shadowhunter business and all that, and he treats us all like children.”

“We are children.”

“Yes, so is he!” Lucie said impatiently. “But you wouldn’t know it from the way he acts.” She sighed. “He’s an all right sort, though. Next salon!”

With rapid speed Lucie took her through the remainder of the people Lucie considered it important for Cordelia to know. Her Aunt Cecily and her Uncle Gabriel—Gabriel also turned out to be among the group surrounding Charlotte—who were Anna and Christopher’s parents. Her Aunt Sophie, who had worked at the Institute as a mundane and then Ascended and married Gabriel’s brother Gideon.

Gideon, Lucie explained, was not here, because Thomas—oh, it was a shame that Cordelia was not going to meet Thomas, and also Thomas would never have allowed Christopher to get within a mile of fire to eat it, if he had anything to say about it, but anyway Thomas had broken his leg and Gideon had stayed home with him.

“Also there are the older girls,” Lucie said darkly. “Barbara and Eugenia. But they’re not much like us. They’re not even here; they had something else tonight. Can you believe it?”

Cordelia wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to believe it or not believe it, having never met either girl, so she only shook her head understandingly.

“Lucie!” A woman with heaps of curly scarlet hair was advancing on them at speed. “I need someone to help me put out the silver. Congratulations, girl, you’re hired.”

“Bridget,” Lucie protested. “Bridget was my nursemaid, when I was young enough to have a nursemaid,” she explained to Cordelia.

“And now your repayment of my kindness to you continues,” Bridget said sharply, “with the putting out of the silver. Come along.”

“I can help,” offered Cordelia.

Bridget looked offended. “I’ll not have a guest doing work at a party. This one here is hosting the thing.” She dragged off Lucie, who gave Cordelia a beseeching look of apology as she vanished into the crowd.

This left Cordelia back to meandering a bit aimlessly. Perhaps, she thought, she would go back and speak more with Anna, who had been so kind. Perhaps she would seek out her own family and see how they were making out.

Where were her family, though? After a few minutes’ wandering she spotted her mother, who seemed to be unusually in her element, animatedly telling some story to a captivated audience. But she couldn’t find her father, or Alastair, anywhere. It was a large party, surely, but she would have expected her father to be with her mother, or if not, captivating his own audience. Cordelia had been able to tell that he was the second-most excited to go to the party after herself. So where was he?

Perhaps, she thought, he had slipped away to the library. She wanted to get a look at the Institute’s library herself, anyway. She managed enough French to ask directions from one of the waitstaff.  It was down an iron spiral staircase, and Cordelia allowed herself to feel like a princess descending a tower.

The library had a tremendously high ceiling, which gave it an airy feel, but on the ground it was crowded with ancient, heavy oaken bookshelves, all of which were piled so densely with books that they were bent over by the weight, and it was astonishing that they had not already collapsed. Cordelia loved the place immediately. It was crumbling, in the most beautiful way possible. The light was warm and orange, and dust motes floated in it. It smelled pleasantly of must and old paper, and here and there were chairs of cracked, heavily aged and stained red leather.

Down at the other end of the room there was indeed a figure seated on the windowsill, curled up with a book, but it was obviously not her father. As she got closer, the dark-haired figure raised its head to peer at her, and she realized: it was James Herondale.

Part 2

“Hello,” said James Herondale. He peered up at Cordelia owlishly, as though he’d just come out of a reverie and wasn’t quite returned to the fully waking world.

“By the Angel, I’m awfully sorry.” Cordelia couldn’t help feeling she had interrupted something. She had met James before, of course—Will Herondale had been nothing if not diligent about making sure that his children and the Carstairs children knew one another—but she would not have described him as a friend, necessarily. He was a bit unknowable, in his odd way.

“No need to apologize,” James said mildly, “it’s me who’s skiving off this party to read.” He sat up rather suddenly, as if he’d only just realized he had been splayed casually across the windowsill and he should seek some kind of propriety.

“Most people don’t skive off parties,” Cordelia said, amused. “It’s usually lessons and chores, that sort of thing. Do you not like parties?”

“I like parties just fine,” James said, a bit defensively.

Cordelia crossed her arms and said sternly, “Well, I am in the library because I wanted to see the Paris Institute library, but also because almost the whole party are strangers to me. But they’re your friends, aren’t they? Wouldn’t you want to be with your friends? Matthew, and Thomas and the rest?”

James gave Cordelia a long look. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “They are my friends, I suppose, but really they’re more like relatives. I’ve always felt out of place among them.”

The thought of James being out of place anywhere struck Cordelia as funny. Compared to herself, he was self-assured, charismatic, effortlessly interesting. Compared to her awkward discomfort inside her own body, he was graceful and strikingly handsome—

Good Lord, Cordelia thought, where had that come from?

It was true, though. Among the pillars and medieval arches of the library he looked as at home as a marble statue, an oil painting of a classical youth at study. How could someone who matched his environment so perfectly be uncomfortable?

“I always feel out of place too,” she offered. “But I thought it was just because my family is always traveling so much. I’ve never stayed in one place long enough to make friends.” She looked down at the ground. “Maybe it’s more complicated than that.”

James said, “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Cordelia gave a little laugh. “Well, yes. We are. But how often do we see each other? Once a year, maybe twice, if we’re lucky?”

He shrugged. “I don’t see most of the people at this party more than that, anyway. We’re always in London and they’re usually in Idris. Although we’re meant to go to Idris this summer, so perhaps I’ll see them a bit more. And of course, we’ll all be at the Academy this fall.” He sighed. “Maybe I’ll start to think of them as real friends at some point. I just feel so different than them. Like…like everyone else is looking out at the world, at other people, but I am always looking inward, instead.”

Since to Cordelia James appeared to glow from within slightly, this struck her as an odd facet of his personality, but she supposed that the shy and retiring came in all shapes and sizes. “‘All man’s miseries derive from not being able to sit in a quiet room alone,’” she quoted. “My father always says that.”

“Your father sounds very wise,” said James.

“Actually,” said Cordelia, “I think Blaise Pascal said that, and my father was only quoting him. You’d get along with my father,” she went on, surprised to find herself saying it out loud. But it was true; both her father and James had the same sense of the world being a bit too much for them, of preferring solitude, of seeking refuge in books. “I should go find him,” she said. “Again, I’m so sorry for interrupting your reading.”

James put the book down on the side table next to the window. “Again, please don’t apologize, I’m always happy for the opportunity to talk with you.” Cordelia found herself blushing, a bit, but James didn’t appear to notice. He stood up and said, smiling, “I shall escort you in your endeavor.”

On the way out of the library they fell silent, and Cordelia began to feel a bit awkward. It was usually so easy to speak with James, and yet she was unaccountably tongue-tied. Finally, desperate for a conversational gambit, she blurted, “Did you know that the original Paris Institute library burned down in 1574 when someone opened a Pyxis containing a Dragonidae demon?”

James raised his eyebrows. “I did not know that, Miss Carstairs,” he said, and Cordelia burst into giggles.

The smile was wiped quickly off her face, however, by the arrival of Alastair, who looked grim. “There you are,” he said, but he sounded more relieved than angry. He had a tired look in his eyes. “Father’s not well,” he said. “He’s asking for you.”

“Oh!” said Cordelia. She felt a brief, uncharitable flash of annoyance — her father’s sickness had spoiled so many parties, even Cordelia’s first rune-day. She turned to James. “I should go to him.”

“Of course,” said James. “I’m so sorry to hear he’s not well.”

“There’s an old monk’s chamber down that hall,” Alastair said, gesturing. “Father said he wanted to be someplace cool and dark.” He shook his head, agitated. “Sorry, Cordelia.”

Cordelia wasn’t sure what he meant—perhaps that it was usually her that Elias asked for when he wasn’t well, and not Alastair? She hoped it didn’t hurt Alastair’s feelings. She assumed it was because Elias believed girls made better nurses than boys, though she wasn’t sure that was true.

She left James and her brother there, looking askance at one another, and went down the hall until she found a short little heavy wooden door set in the wall. It swung open at her tentative push, and inside she found only a bit of dim light and a sparsely furnished room, with a small platform bed in the corner on which her father sat, his arm over his eyes.

“Papa,” she said, “I’m here.”

He groaned. “Cordelia, my love. It came on so suddenly.”

Cordelia felt a wash of guilt at having resented her father. “I know. I’m here, Papa.”

She went over to the bed and sat down next to him. The room was suffused with the strong smell, herbaceous and strongly bitter, that she associated with his episodes—the medicine that the Silent Brothers gave him to keep his health under control, she assumed.

“I’m sorry to ruin your party, Cordelia,” her father said after a moment. His voice was throaty, his words slow, as though it pained him to speak.

“No,” said Cordelia gently. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. I know you had looked forward to the party as well.”

He looked up from his arm and gazed at her fondly. “I already feel better now that you’re here.” He reached out and took her small hand in his larger one. “You’ve always been my best charm for getting well.”

Cordelia rubbed his hand anxiously. “What can I do, Papa? Is there anything you need?” She glanced around the room, looking for anything that might be helpful. Her eye fell on one of the room’s few decorations, a small shelf with a selection of cloth and leather-bound books arranged haphazardly across it. “I could read to you,” she said. That was what she would want if she were feeling ill, after all. To be read to would be the greatest act of love she could receive, so it only made sense to offer it here.

“Yes, that would be very nice.” Her father closed his eyes and smiled, as if in anticipation.

Cordelia went to examine the shelf. Doubtfully she said, “Well, in English we have either the 1817 classic How to Avoid Werewolves—”

“You mean, socially?”

“I’m not sure,” said Cordelia. “Your other option is the classic travelogue of the Shadowhunter Hezekiah Featherstone, Demons With Whom I Have Had Relationships.”

“Should you really be reading that second one?” her father rumbled.

“Papa!” said Cordelia, scandalized. “I don’t think they are romantic relationships.”

“Well then,” said Elias, settling back on the bed, and Cordelia thought he did already sound like he was feeling a bit better, “surprise me.”

#

James thought, it wasn’t Cordelia’s fault that he had been left alone with her older brother. It was only an unfortunate side-effect of the situation.

Though only a couple of years apart in age, James had always thought of Alastair as impossibly older than him, and Alastair, for his part, had treated James as impossibly younger. James supposed this was a natural result of being an older sibling. Certainly he could not imagine taking anyone fully seriously who was only his little sister’s age. In this circumstance, however, it left him unsure what to say to Alastair, or whether to wait for Alastair to speak, or whether to simply bolt from the room at top speed and assume Alastair was too slow to catch him.

Alastair ended the mystery by saying, in an odd tone, “My apologies for all this. My father is often unwell.”

“It’s all right,” James said, feeling strange to be reassuring an older boy. Tentatively he said, “Your father is a hero, after all.”

“What?” said Alastair, thrown off guard.

“Your father,” James said. “He killed the demon Yanluo.”

“Not by himself,” said Alastair.

“No,” said James, “but still. My father says an experience like that can leave scars. It’s a kind of sacrifice that heroes make, taking those scars so others don’t have to.”

He had meant it kindly, but was dismayed by the way Alastair’s face shut down. He became a blank, and when he looked at James, it was clear that he had ceased to regard James as being present in the room, or indeed, existing at all. “Quite,” he said. Without further comment he headed down the hallway toward the library..

“I’ll see you at the Academy,” James offered, one final try. “This fall. I’ll be starting.”

Alastair turned back, and in the same oddly neutral tone, he said, “That’s right. I suppose you will.”

After Alastair departed, James stayed where he was for a while, alone in the narrow, whitewashed corridor of the Institute. There was a party shaking the very rafters of the building, and yet here there was only silence. James thought of Cordelia, comforting her ill father, of Alastair stomping off for the sake of stomping off, obviously with no destination in mind.

His father had always made such an effort to get the two families together, the Herondales and the Carstairs. He had told so many stories about them, and was always encouraging their spending time together. And James had always been fond of the Carstairs, especially Cordelia. But now he thought, it’s odd, really, how little I know them as people.

He thought of the cousins, the parents’ friends, the Enclave members celebrating above. Other than his own family, he knew so little about any of them as people. And while he felt safe here, in the quiet, in the dark, he could tell that the world would not let him remain there for much longer. He would be out in the world, and he would need friends, and family, to help get him through.

Perhaps at the Academy, this fall.