#and i end up getting in trouble or disparaged anyway

[moonstruckme]

If you don't mind, a request from me about a reader who's growing up with an almond mom and an environment where instant food or drink is a sin

So the day she moves in with steedi and they like have a cabinet full of instant food, can fruit and like fast food every week? Amd reader being free can't hold herself and end up has stomachache for being greedy or something like that. Please

Thanks for requesting!

cw: vague mention of household with restrictive eating, nausea, stomach pain

Steddie x fem!reader ♡ 396 words

“M’gonna be sick,” you mumble, curling around your stomach. 

“Told you so,” Steve quips, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth. On the table in front of you, an array of empty junk food containers lies scattered about like a graveyard of indulgences past. 

Eddie grips your hip to haul you towards him, cooing when you groan. “Damn, you really demolished some dessert tonight, huh? Way to go, superstar.” 

“Shut up,” you grumble, but lean into him anyways. He pinches your side, and you bite back a yelp. “I’ll throw up on you, Munson, I’m serious.” 

“You’re meaner like this than you were when you weren’t having any good food,” he decides, impervious to your glare.

“You’re mean. My stomach hurts, and you’re bullying me.” 

Steve takes pity on you, reaching around Eddie to pull your feet into his lap, where he rubs them consolingly. 

Eddie snorts. “I’m not trying to mom you, but I think I know why you have a stomachache.”

“I’ll do it. You need to eat a vegetable” Steve says, still massaging your feet whilst he disparages you. “Your stomach’s probably trying to tell you it’s pissed off because you haven’t had anything with nutritional value in, like, days. You’re gonna feel like shit until you eat something real.” 

“Mm. You do a great mom impression,” you tell him flatly. 

Your boyfriend levels you with a look just as deadpan. “If I don’t see you eat an actual meal tomorrow, you’re gonna be in shitloads of trouble. How’s that?” 

“Spot-on,” you mutter. Then sigh. “I get it, I’ll eat better. I just wanted to try it out, you know? I never got to do this stuff before.” 

Eddie laughs. “That’s obvious. It’s like having a ten-year-old in our kitchen.” 

“A ten-year-old who can reach the top shelf,” Steve adds. “That’s worse than Dustin.” 

You make a miserable noise that you hope sounds pitiful. “If I promise to lay off the junk tomorrow, will one of you please rub my stomach? It really hurts.” 

Eddie eyes you cautiously. “Are you still going to throw up on me?” 

“No,” you say, hiding your uncertainty by batting your eyelashes up at him. “That part’s passed.” 

You can tell he doesn’t quite buy it, but he needles his arms under yours anyways, hands splaying over your bloated abdomen. “Fine. Tell me what to do, baby.” 

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 1.3

Okay can anyone explain the “false hotel registration” thing to me? Does it mean they registered under a false name? So Paul registered under a false name so he could go fuck a girl in his room without getting in trouble with the press? I'm confused. Didn't they bring girls to their rooms all the time without getting in trouble? It doesn't make sense. Why did he feel the need to register under a different name?

Paul, talking about American conservatism, “So many organizations over here that are nuts anyway.” John, “Yeah, they're so far right they just–” tape ends. They really were brave, though. To say what they thought and risk losing what they'd only just got. I wonder who cut the recording. 

Journalist: Paul, are you planning to marry Jane Asher? John: scream ‘no.’ Go on. Lol John certainly says what he feels doesn't he?

Paul making fun of the racist question. Good job bud. 

The whole “Yesterday” thing is crazy. Like, what a feat, first of all. I think we forget how unbelievably successful the song was.

Second of all, I know John's reaction was childish and mean, but his feelings were valid if you just look at the treatment and reception of “Ticket to Ride”  (John's dead mum song). Like objectively yesterday is a better song, but still.

Oh, John. Poor thing. 

If “Girl” is secretly about Paul . . . yeesh. It's so obsessive and adoring and simultaneously so disappointed and disparaging. John always has such impossible standards for Paul. “She promises the earth to me and I believe her, after all this time I don't know why.” Um… maybe because he literally did give you the world? At so many points I find myself asking, “what more could Paul possibly have given John?”

People always take this quote as a sexuality thing, but couldn't it also be a conscience thing? Revulsion at taking advantage of the fact that all these women are fans? At the scale of his infidelity? I don't know, am I giving him too much credit?

The thing about Paul, John – and though it drives you insane, it's a big factor in why you love him -- is he's not going to be bullied into anything. If he decides to take LSD it's going to be on his own terms. And I know you think it'll bring you two closer, and you're right, but peer pressure just doesn't work on him. There's no point. You know that.

I LOVE Paul and the Indica. Designing the wrapping paper in secret up in his little attic room, covering over the shop windows so he can do his handyman work building shelves and painting in peace. It's Linda's Paul pre Linda, you know?

John is so good at PR as in making something sound as beautiful and important and powerful as possible. Which is something Paul absolutely relied on John to do and clearly could not do on his own after the break up. Look how John makes them almost into prophets here.

"I really wanted to live in London but I wouldn't risk it." Another thing to make John envious of Paul and resentful of Cynthia. I really wish those two had just never got married. 

“I don't object to people having a lot of money, I never did. But I do object to people being stony broke and starving.” RIP John, you would've loved the American “left” of today. But you can't have the former without the latter, sorry.

This picture always gets me. It's ridiculous. Pattie and George. Mo and Ringo. John and Paul. With Cynthia awkwardly by herself. It's funny. It's adorable. It's crushing. And with that quote? It's impossible.

I think Tara Browne is overlooked. Paul brought him home for Christmas. That's a big deal. And John hated him enough to laugh when he read about his death. That's also a big deal. Paul and his messed up social climbing obsession. I do think it's worth pointing out, though, the difference between Paul’s LSD trip with Tara and his trip with John. More on that later.

I really do think they were all staunchly anti-racist for their time, you know, besides John's racist jokes and drawings… but Paul particularly. And I have to wonder where that came from. Did he have empathy for people being judged on appearance and background? Was it partially due to his idolization of black artists? Did Little Richard maybe say something to him about racism in America? Anyone have any thoughts?

Actually, same, John. 

Okay and I have to share my hot take on the whole Jesus scandal. It's this: the American right doesn't actually care about Jesus. They care about protecting their hegemony. They didn't like that the Beatles were openly and stubbornly integrationist. They didn't like Paul's comment about their inhumane racism. But they couldn't openly counter that without showing their hand. So they used the Jesus comment as an excuse. If they play the religious persecution card, they get to paint themselves as the victims and therefore the good guys while they take down anyone who challenges the status quo that keeps them in money and power (aka the Beatles). 

Maybe I should've had a “poor baby” tally because the number of times I've said that about John in these comments has got to be tally-worthy. I would've driven around in a gorilla suit with you, honey!

It is actually amazing that there hasn't been more speculation on Paul's sexuality with all these serious boyfriends. 

Paul tells a story about a time he flew a plane, and how much better he liked it than being a passenger. First off. Imagine being a pilot and just being like “oh, you've never touched a joystick in your life, but you're Paul McCartney? Sure, go ahead. Fly the plane.” But also. His control issues and his confidence are both off unreal. No one in their right mind would feel more safe flying a plane – as someone with a complete lack of experience – than when a licensed pilot is flying it. 

Okay I literally JUST learned that Here There and Everywhere says, “how good it can be” not could. Can. And it's one of those in my "for sure this was about John" folder. Okay then. Wow.

The thing is they really did compliment each other's songs a lot more than modern Paul makes it seem like. So I wonder what it was about the “Here There and Everywhere” compliment that made it so special to Paul?

This footage where John is hiding behind McCharmley. I love protective Paul and how different he is to protective John and how much they needed each other. 

Hall of Fame quote: “what composer do you respect the most?” “I dunno really. John Lennon.” “Paul McCartney.”

[hephaestiions]

Inspired by your Drarry fic recs and your amazing Flintwood fic, do you have any Flintwood recs or personal favorites?

ah! fantastic ask, anon! flintwood was, incidentally, my earliest hp ship & maintains a soft spot after all these years. their functions in canon (quidditch captains of rival houses, pinnacles of a certain kind of obsessive, single-minded, aggressive athletic masculinity) conduce some of the most raw and gritty characterisations— kind of like if tracing your tongue along the jagged, broken end of a tooth was a ship. flintwood encapsulates a very specific kind of mood— a foregrounded physicality, a delicious emotional dimension balancing both subtlety and brashness. this ship is especially delightful when you're in the mood for some deferred emotional payoff, a little out of reach and more satisfying for it.

(tw for some discussions of queerphobia & masculinity!)

flintwood also works with and subverts some common stereotypes & tropes associated with sports as a site of exalted & amplified masculinity. oliver and marcus are both, in fic, often representations of what a popular (largely homophobic & patriarchal) culture understands as 'masculine ideal stereotypes'— physically hulking, emotionally repressed, narrow-focused, a little dangerous. and flintwood, as a ship, is crucially also about these 'ideal men' making the choice to step away from the hallowed halls of homosociality towards explicit queer desire, dynamics and love.

i'm getting into this because a large selection of flintwood fics i've loved deal (overtly or covertly) with coming to terms with queer awakenings, reckoning with being queer men in sports and similar explorations. my flintwood fic (thank you for reading it, anon!), addictive tendencies (~4k, T, tw for internalised homophobia) also grapples with this fairly significantly. in fact, even when the central tension isn’t explicitly about a queer reckoning, and the worldbuilding has little/no queerphobia, many excellent flintwood fics have some of the themes, ideas and tropes you find in literature accounting for our society’s (often disparaging) attitude towards queerness: a desire both intense and grudging, a sense of “i can’t have this person” justified through rivalry and/or jealousy, poignant internal conflicts, etc.

anyway, enough talk, here's a selection of flintwood fics i've dearly enjoyed, hope you do too! mind the tags & notes & remember to send some love the authors' way :)

best kept secrets by slyther_ing (M, 1.8k)

Marcus Flint is leaning up by the metal chainlink fence - gum popping, grin flashing white, and Oliver has the urge to run away because everything in the taller boy’s stature screams trouble, trouble, trouble.

twenty gauge by provocative_envy (T, 3k)

It takes Marcus less than ninety seconds to determine that his four o'clock is an aggressively annoying piece of shit.

wake up, get up, shut up by provocative_envy (E, 4.2k)

Marcus is twenty-three and half-concussed when it finally occurs to him that he might actually kind of sort of be really into dudes.

rugby boys, they play 15s by thistlecat (M, 4.5k)

Fifteen significant moments in Oliver Wood’s collegiate rugby career that did not make his highlight tape.

no vacancy by provocative_envy (M, 10.1k)

The dreams are frightening, at first.

true but not nice by v (E, 10.2k)

Marcus found out about it from Warrington, who heard it from Montague, who heard it from Derrick, who heard it from Nott, who heard it from Zabini, who heard it from Malfoy, who they said heard from the Quidditch dressing room, which really just meant that Marcus was going to fucking kill him.

self preservation by al-the-remix (E, 17.8k)

Outside the night had grown dark, and at some point Oliver had moved to perch on the edge of Marcus' bed, thigh pressed against his and tray settled between them. As if they had some sort of understanding. As if they were friends.

[lexpressobean]

Shino was a good student and is also considered a good Shinobi in general, but it's because he was essentially Brainwashed to a greater extent than the rest of the Konoha 13, second only to Sai. And that's probably super obvious but Imma talk about it anyway, take a peak if you'd like lol

It's the same reason why Choji was originally one of the worst students and as he got older and more experienced, still wasn't up to speed like some of the others in general, allegedly. Shino and Choji both come from Noble Clans, and by the time they're both 17, have a great amount of skill in their own way. And sure, Asuma as a Sensei was noted to complain a lot about Choji, but I think its at least partly because Choji was not brainwashed by the school to a great enough extent. And his obviously loving parents and fellow Akimichi Clan Members certainly did not try to remedy that either. It doesn't show in his character like it does for Shino and the Aburame. Neji is considered a great Shinobi, even better than Shino by Rank. And he was RIGHTFULLY angry, but dude had such a warped sense of his own worth and existence due to his Dad being put to death because of the Situation, being a literal slave, and then finding out his Dad willingly chose to die instead of fighting for his life??? Neji was considered a Noble but he was treated cruelly and spiritually beaten down by his own family to become the Shinobi he was. School probably just gave him some desperately needed structure.

Like, Shino comes from an obviously powerful clan, yet even so, Shibi as the Head of that clan was powerless to keep Torune from being taken by Danzo. And Shino might have witnessed all of that as a young child, but he likely understood most of what happened very well. So how were Shibi and the rest of the Aburame Clan going to justify such a thing? The only way to explain it to Shino and keep him from looking for Torune and causing trouble along the way would be to make Shino think of Torune's selection and following abduction as a Good Thing. It was an Honor for Danzo to come to the Aburame, and Torune acted like a True Shinobi, a prime example of what it means to be Loyal to and Love the Village. And the fact that Shino was originally the one chosen to go doesn't mean Shino wasn't good enough in the end. This all just has to be kept as secret as possible, and Shino is already a student at the Academy. This is so that Enemy Ninja don't find out so easily. But they all know, and will always know. So Shino should not cry or fret. Shino is just as much Devoted to the Village as Torune, right? Torune wanted to do this, so Shono should not disparage his choices with tears and sadness...

... Framing it as an especially good thing would have to have been the only way to pacify an otherwise complely terrified and hugely upset Shino. And the only way to cope with what happened would be to believe it was a good thing, to believe all that bullshit everyone else told him. And Shino really would. It would always feel bad, and the trauma would still affect him in a variety of ways. The survivor's guilt. The feelings of inadequacy caused by Danzo's choice to reconsider Torune instead, which spared Shino instead of Torune. The new knowledge that some people in the village are so strong that just their words could make Shibi visibly panic. Knowing Danzo could always come back if he wanted to. But still, it's all worth it, because it was a Good Thing. Shino tries to, and really just has to actively deal with all that... at least until he gets older. And starts to use his developed critical thinking skills to question Konoha's inner workings and politics, especially after Naruto's supposed influence. He'd soon realize how fucked up it all really was with a clearer and more human and personal view on things. He might try talking to Shibi about it, but Shibi wouldn't give him the chance. Shibi doesn't want to even think about it. But at that point, Shino could easily piece together what a dilemma it really was for his father. There was no solution, only two bad options his father would have had to live with...

Torune wasn't loyal to the Village. He didn't love the Village. Torune was loyal to Shibi for treating him like a son, and he loved Shino like a little brother. That's why he did what he did...

Like... how is this shit still not properly explored in canon? Why set up such a situation, at the very end, only to ignore it completely anyway!? Why did we get these tidbits so late in the game when Shino was set up to just be a snooty and sometimes quite an unlikable guy in the series?

[fannish-karmiya]

Onto another fandom gripe of mine...I have for so long seen Jiang Yanli get hate, and in particular people often say that she failed to help WWX while he was in trouble in the Burial Mounds and should have done more for him. I’ve even seen posts which are very reasonable and not hateful of her at all say things like this, and I think one issue at play (beyond the misogyny inherent in some of the more hateful takes about her) is that a lot of fandom doesn’t seem very familiar with what life was like for women in Chinese history. Or history in general, actually; a lot of the broad outlines are really similar across many time periods and cultures.

This isn’t going to be a full essay with sources and quotes, I’m just doing a sort of rough talk about it, so please bear with me. A full essay with some actual academic sources on the lives of women in Chinese history, comparing it to what we see in MDZS, could be really interesting, though, and I may earmark that as something to do in the future. I have the sources on my pc and bookshelf anyway!

So. One thing JYL gets criticised for a lot is not helping WWX when he settles down with the Wens in the Burial Mounds. People say that she shouldn’t have just brought him some soup and showed off her wedding dress, he was starving and poor and needed money!

But I think people don’t quite understand the social structure at play here. Money in Chinese families was (and sometimes still is today) communal, and the head of the family had the final say in what was spent and on what. We see,, near the end of the novel during the extras, LWJ give WWX a jade token and say that can be used to draw sect money. WWX, meanwhile, as a kid used to be able to just pick stuff up at Lotus Pier and it would be put on a tab which JFM paid off at the end of the month. The head of the family can see what money is being drawn from the sect coffers and by whom, and if it’s being spent on something they disapprove of how do you think that would go?

JC would absolutely not allow JYL to draw sect money in order to send it to WWX, and she could hardly give WWX anything during the wedding dress visit, which JC monopolised the whole time. What could she do, hide some money or jewellery in the soup bowl?? And after JYL marries, any money she has access to is her husband’s money, ultimately controlled by her father-in-law who is one of WWX’s greatest enemies.

Now, you can say that JYL could have sent him money secretly, but this would wind up causing far more problems than it would actually help. JYL and WWX are not related by blood, and we see time and again in canon that cultivation society does not respect her claim that they are siblings (look at that scene at Phoenix Mountain where she defends him; everyone refrains from directly disparaging her due to her social rank, but no one wants to give in, either, because they disagree with her). Immediately after this scene Jin-furen doesn’t want to let JYL go back down the mountain with WWX, because they don’t have a chaperone, to which JYL reiterates again that WWX is her brother (which Jin-furen ignores).

JYL trying to send letters or gifts or money to WWX, a man she is not related to who is not her husband, would have, if discovered, led to accusations of adultery. It could have ruined her reputation and marriage and caused a lot of trouble for WWX, to boot. WWX would surely not have accepted such attempts on JYL’s part if she did make them, knowing the consequences if they were discovered.

JYL did what she could for WWX; she spoke in his favour frequently (the gossipers during pt1 of Nightfall note that she speaks fondly of her shidi a lot) and encourages her husband to invite WWX to their son’s one-month celebration. Had it not been for the ambush (a plan which JZXuan was kept out of the loop from specifically because he might disapprove or tell his wife), then the meeting could have served as a means to re-invite WWX back into ‘polite’ society. It could have served to show everyone that WWX really is just living peacefully in the Burial Mounds and isn’t a threat.

The idea that JYL betrayed WWX or was selfish in marrying JZXuan and marrying into LLJ ignores two major issues. One is that who JYL marries, or if she marries at all, is really not up to her. It’s the decision of the head of her family, her brother at that point. And as I’ve written about before, I think there’s some subtext that JC was quite happy to marry JYL into LLJ and make a stronger alliance with them, regardless of whether she still cared for JZXuan or not. Women were essentially viewed as the property of male family members for much of human history; even up until a few decades ago (and still in many countries!) women couldn’t do things like open a bank account or rent or buy a house without a male relative or husband to co-sign for her!

This would leave JYL with only one option if she didn’t want to marry into LLJ: to flee. She could either try to marry someone else (who? especially who would be willing to defy both YMJ and LLJ in the process), probably using a ‘Romance of the Western Chamber’ tactic in the process, or she could...run away? What would fans have her do? Run away to Yiling and live with WWX and the Wens in the Burial Mounds?

The exact same problem, only more extreme, would come up then. JYL is, remember, a woman in (fantasy) ancient China, not a full citizen with the right to make her own life decisions. JC could just refuse to accept her decision and instead claim that WWX kidnapped her, which may well have given the Jins the excuse they needed early in order to rally the sects against WWX and mount a siege. Even if people accepted that JYL went there of her own free will, this would surely have led to the sects believing that JYL was seduced by WWX and they were having an affair. JC already stabbed WWX in the guts during their duel (not that I believe JYL ever knew about that). What would he have done if he believed that WWX had ‘stolen’ JYL away from him?

I think fandom often judges JYL as if she’s a man and has all the freedom of movement and self-determination which that implies, but she’s not. She’s a woman under the thumb of first her brother then her husband and father-in-law, and she doesn’t even have strong cultivation, not that that would change the way society views her.

[ashesandhackles]

The Hogwarts Express scene in Prince's Tale: A Sirius and Snape analysis

I really, really enjoy Sirius and Snape as characters and their respective narrative functions in story. But what gets me most about them is how much Rowling hints about their backgrounds and so much of it makes sense with regard to who they are as adults. So I am going to be breaking down a very small scene from Prince Tale and getting into long winded hypothesis about their respective childhoods.

So, let's start with Snape. The scene begins with Snape rushing to find Lily, already in his Hogwarts clothes. Harry notes he must have been eager to get out of his clothes - ones that look like he borrowed from his mother, as Petunia spitefully pointed out. This has always been a very interesting detail to me - first off, it indicates how poor Snape's family is. Second, this indicates his tiny rebellion from his father - he refuses to wear clothes of the abusive man, and prefers his mother's. I admit, I am partial to the reading that Snape refuses to associate with his father in tiny ways, rather than Tobias refusing to hand his son clothes.

(I have seen readings which say that it is also a sign of neglect - perhaps his parents bought clothes that simply don't fit him, but I am more inclined to think it's a hand me down, simply because Harry identifies so strongly with it. Because Harry knows what it is like to wear a hand me down that don't quite fit, that are too big for you, or the ones that make you look ridiculous.)

Lily and Petunia's relationship is fraught with Petunia's jealousy. And young Lily is upset over it when Snape meets her. "I am not talking to you. Tuney hates me" she tells him. "Because we saw the letter from Dumbledore". Young Lily shows signs of being extremely emotionally reactive and this scene is one of them. It's easier for her to deal with Petunia's rejection of her by telling Snape she doesn't want to talk to him. It's a childish displacement of her hurt over her sister's rejection. (I am genuinely baffled by interpretations that Lily and Hermione are similar. Hermione is very cognitive person, Lily, as we have been shown repeatedly in memories, is not).

Snape, however, with his bad history with Petunia and his inability/ poor social skills to understand why this matters to her, goes: "So what?"

Lily, who throws him a look of deep dislike, says "So she's my sister". This seed is important because this is what develops into "he doesn't get me" feeling she later displays in her teenage scenes with him. Interestingly, most of Lily's personal relationships have deeply interwined love and dislike - Petunia (whose rejection bothers her but she cheerfully informs Sirius that Harry nearly broke a vase her sister sent - which means there is resentment on her end too), James - who she was attracted to even before 7th year but also disliked at one point, and Snape - again, a contentious friendship filled with love and distance.

"She's only a -" we dont get to hear what Snape intended to say. And given his own acrimony with Petunia, it could be anything. However, I read it as "She's only a Muggle" because it ties into his feelings about his father. Snape, who is proud of being half a Prince, emphasizing his magical lineage from his mother's side, his refuge in a violent, neglectful home. (Barty Crouch Jr and Snape with their disappointing fathers - I imagine Voldemort is supremely attractive leader to people with broken homes like this)

Snape, by all accounts, shows a disorganised attachment style. His caregiver, his mother - and perhaps the only parent he seems to have regard for, is too preoccupied by her own abuse to be there for her son - we see this in glimpses Harry sees in OOTP: " woman cowering" where a man shouts at her, and a young, neglected Snape cries in the corner. Children born in homes like this have trouble regulating their emotions, simultaneously displaying tendencies to aggressively lash out or show disassociative symptoms. Both of which Snape displays. Statistically, this is also seen more in low income households where economic instability and resulting domestic instability creates an unsafe environment for the kids to safely form ideas of their identity, or express emotions in healthy ways, modelling instead out of behaviour seen at home.

Then, Snape reminds her that they are going to Hogwarts. He is already in his Hogwarts clothes - now, Snape gets to be the impressive figure. The one who told her about magic, who theorised about how Muggles get letters from magical people, the one who told her about Dementors and Azkaban. He has already left behind the Spinner's End version of him, he wants to bigger than that, and is keen to be in place of magical learning and to join Slytherin. Essentially, he shows signs of unstable identity, insecurity - all prime for grooming into a cult.

And here comes along James Potter, who looks around at the mention of Slytherin. James's comment uses Snape's line and directs it to Sirius instead and it becomes a conversation between them, as a way to bond more with a fellow "rowdy boy" Sirius. Effectively ignoring the other two.

Sirius as we see here, "does not smile" when James talks about Slytherin. He essentially says something that can be construed as a way to nip that conversation in bud: "My whole family has been in. Slytherin". This suggests to me that there is some loyalty to his family there and his disillusionment with them isn't entirely fixed yet. After all, Sirius's intense loyalty to his friends, more specifically James, did not come out of thin air. It is reasonable to suggest that he felt some loyalty to his family at some point and the intensity with which he regards his friends is a reaction to burned off and being a "displaced person without a family" as Rowling put it.

Interestingly, while his reaction to his mother and Bellatrix are obviously sore spots, his response to Regulus is comparatively quite soft. ("Stupid, idiot" - something he calls James later on in the same book, OOTP). I imagine Sirius has quite complicated feelings about his brother and he is capable of nuance (when the person isn't Snape, where his dislike seems to be borne of an intense projection): "The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters". As someone who is grown up among them, Sirius would understand that.

His framing of Regulus's need to please his parents also further highlights what exactly is the source of disillusionment. He calls Regulus "soft enough to believe them" - which means he is crediting his own intelligence to see through his parents bigoted world view. Clearly, bigotry is not something the Blacks explained in a way that Sirius, eldest of their male line and their heir, bought it. It also probably didn't help the Blacks case that Grimmauld Place is in a Muggle neighborhood and that their eldest son is a bit of a wild boy with interest in pushing boundaries. His intellectual disconnect leads to the righteous rage he later feels but it began there. (Boy, it must suck to discover that everything you have been taught to value in the world and in yourself as the heir is essentially rubbish). Since his differences with his family began with seeds of intellectual disconnect rather than on intense empathy with downtrodden, it makes him, as a pureblooded privileged boy, unable to truly understand Lupin's fears regarding his lycanthropy. Hence, the Werewolf prank (I am not getting to the Snape bit, just the Lupin bit). To James' credit, he does understand what that means for Lupin and saves all three of them from different set of consequences.

Anyway, back to the scene. James, who has made an ass of himself in front of his new friend, who he was getting along with fine until now, then goes "Blimey, I thought you seemed alright". (Btw, I find James wildly large ego kind of hilarious here, especially in light of Snape's comment about him to Sirius in OOTP: "You will know he is so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him"). Sirius, who I believe has been raised like "royalty" as Blacks would, has good enough social skills to defuse a situation. He grins and says: "Maybe I will break the tradition".

This line is an indication of Sirius's desire for independence, an identity seperate from his family. The use of the word "tradition" is interesting. It sounds like Sirius is expected to behave in a certain way, the heir of Black family whose parents thought being a Black "made you practically royal". Adult Sirius is contemptuous of this, or their "valuable contribution to Ministry" which means they just gave gold - it tells me that any and all conditions put on him by his family were to fulfill tradition that is either worthless or holds no meaning in his eyes. The root of the emotional abuse Sirius suffers from his family is this - realising his parents love for him is conditional on him being a certain way. (In fact, you can read Regulus desire to emphasise his connection to the family as a reaction to what he sees with Sirius - Sirius does not behave, Mum and Dad don't love him). As a child with unconscious knowledge of lack of love, Sirius then acts out, they react, rinse and repeat "until he has had enough". Sirius chafes against boundaries well into adulthood and doesn't react well to people enforcing it on him, even if it is out of love for him. Cue the fire scene with Harry where he behaves as if Harry is rejecting him instead of protecting him.

Sirius asks James about where he wants to go, and Snape, who is incensed about James being insulting about a House he put stock in, which he made part of new identity (so that he is no longer that Snape boy from Spinner's End) and was in general trying to be impressive about in front of Lily, "makes a disparaging noise" once James talks of Gryffindor. Snape's response to James' : "Got a problem with that?" is interesting. He says: "If you'd rather be brawny, rather than brainy-"

This is an important value for Snape. He knows he is clever and values it. He spends his spare time inventing hexes, making great shortcuts to Potions. He has genuine thirst for learning and he hones it. In SWM, we see that he has written far more longer answers than anyone else, he is poring over his paper after exams. He even mocks Hermione's lack of inventive answers: "Answer copied word to word from the textbook, but correct in essentials". He values originality. It may be me stretching this, but I am partial to the reading: this is his way of rejecting his father once again, who is implied to be a violent man. (in other words, someone who is hypermasculine - "brawny". In fact, Snape's rejection of hypermasculinity is a huge post on it's own - Potions (brewing, cauldrons - coded as feminine arts), the doe Patronus, his proficiency in Occlumency and Legliemency (intuitive mind arts, again seen archetypically feminine) etc).

"Where are you hoping to go, seeing as you are neither?" - Sirius is quick with emotionally cutting insults. Snape hasn't even finished his sentence, but Sirius is already on his case. Which suggests growing up in a household with sharp tongues. It's a fair assumption, given Mrs Black's half mad portrait. It also tallies with Sirius's talking about his mother: "My mother didn't have a heart Kreacher, she kept herself alive out of pure spite" . The wounds are fresh enough on this. (Another interesting way Snape and Sirius act as inverse mirrors - Snape rejects his father, Sirius rejects his mother. Sirius acts as proxy for James for Harry while Snape takes on Lily's role of protecting him). However, you know who else is spiteful? Sirius.

While James is the physical bully (the tripping Snape, doing most of the bullying in SWM), Sirius attacks emotionally. ( Sample the one about Snape's appearance - "I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment, there will be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word" or even the carelessly vicious- "Put that away, before Wormtail wets himself in excitement"). Curiously, with all that talk of how his mother being spiteful, it's her room he spends time in when he is depressed. (Again, in inverse mirror way, we can talk of how Snape looks for a father figure in Dumbledore - craves his validation and is proud of Dumbledore's trust in him). We could argue it's also because Buckbeak is there, and perhaps it's the largest room in the house, but it's very telling that's where Sirius spends time when he is "in a fit of sullens". Sirius's sense of abandonment from his family, makes him look for family connections with friends - a trait he shares with Harry. Interestingly, the first time he glimpses Harry in Privet Drive, Harry is also running away from home - just like he did. Anyway, I could go on.

[chudleycanonficfest]

young dumb thrills

Day 26, Post #2 by @accio-broom

Title: young dumb thrills Author/Artist: accio-broom Pairing: Gryffindor pals Prompt: Studying together Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Ron likes to swear, a lot. Also, the lads enjoy not speaking very nicely about the women in their year.

“Merlin, this potions essay is a pile of wank. I'm so fucking bored.”

Seamus snaps his book shut, his Irish lilt filling the dorm room and disturbing the peace. Until the rude intrusion, Ron had been attempting to write a Transfiguration essay on the benefits of Non-verbal spells, although he was struggling without Hermione’s usual help.

Four heads, belonging to the various bodies strewn around the place, lift from their books and parchment. The sixth-year Gryffindors throw frowns and obscenities at their friend.

“Well, it was your idea for us to do something together,” Dean comments, letting his head loll to the side to rest on his arms, his eyes closing.

“Yeah, but when I suggested it, I had a night of debauchery and booze on my mind. Not being shut up here on a Friday night.”

Ron laughs and abandons his parchment on the bedroom floor. He rolls off his tummy then wriggles into a sitting position, his back flush against his trunk. It allows him a better view of his dorm mates.

Seamus is sat up in his bed, resting against the headboard, his now shut Potions book by his feet. Dean sits in one of the window seats whilst Neville is perched next to his bedside table, crooning at his Mimbulus Mimbletonia. Harry is in one of the cosy armchairs next to the fire, switching his obsessive gaze between the Marauder’s Map and the Half-Blood Prince’s Potions book.

“Debauchery?” Ron scoffs. “What kind of stuff did you think we’d be getting up to stuck in Gryffindor tower? You tried sneaking in the Firewhisky, but you were thick enough to let Filch catch you. McGonagall has got us on lockdown because of you, and we can’t even sneak out the window for a fly ‘cos it’s pissing down outside.”

Frowning, Seamus retorts, “At least I tried. Anyways, you and Potter don’t seem to have any difficulties getting yourselves into trouble, despite the rules and detentions and any other fucking thing the staff throw at you.”

Harry, who has been a silent observer up until now, finally pipes up, “You know, I’d gladly trade places with you, Seamus, if it means getting a quiet year without Voldemort trying to kill me.”

The other four boys shudder at Harry’s use of You-Know-Who’s real name. Once he has recovered, Seamus waves a dismissive hand before flopping down onto his stomach.

“Yeah, yeah. We all know that Voldie prefers to wait until the end of the year before trying to kill you. You could at least enjoy yourself up until then.” A heavy sigh escapes his lips. “How did it come to this, lads? We're all virile, good looking fellas. Well, apart from Nev. Yet, here we are on a Friday night, with only each other for company.”

“Oi!” Neville frowns, swivelling to face his friends with his hands on his hips. “At least I managed to get a date for the Yule Ball. Dean didn’t go with anyone.”

“Yeah, but I have a girlfriend now.”

Dean’s cheeks darken as Ron’s eyes narrow. The redhead’s stomach churns. Sure, he’s adjusted to catching Dean snogging his sister in the common room now, but it doesn’t mean he enjoys it. He knows the type of stuff Dean gets up to, the sort of things he says behind closed doors. He’d rather Ginny didn’t get involved with a guy like Dean, but Ron knows it’s out of his control.

“Out of all of us,” Dean continues, “It’s only Weasley and me who have birds.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Ron joins in, mostly to distract himself from his overprotective urges. Ginny is more than capable of looking after herself, and she’s told him enough fucking times, too. “And I could be downstairs with Lav right now, but you were so adamant that we were going to have a good night. Anyway, you can take the piss out of Neville all you want, but I bet you haven’t even snogged a girl, Seamus.”

The Irish Gryffindor’s eyes brighten with glee. “Yeah, I have. Your girl.”

Ron isn’t surprised at the emptiness he feels at the jibe. His feelings for Lavender fizzled out ages ago, and he’s been trying to finish things for weeks. The only problem is he can’t seem to say or do the right thing to scare her away. He should probably come out and say it, try this honesty thing Hermione is always harping about, but Ron likes his balls attached to his body. Plus, it’s kind of nice having a girlfriend and feeling like someone wants him.

Still, he has to keep up appearances. He reaches behind his trunk and fishes out one of his trainers from under his bed before hurling it at Seamus. The guy moves fast, rolling to the side to avoid being hit in the head as he bursts out laughing.

“And a good kisser she is too,” he adds.

“Who do you reckon is the best snogger out of the whole of Gryffindor?” Dean muses.

Ron mutters, “Aren’t you still dating my sister, Dean?” 

He knows his anger is irrational, Dean has done nothing wrong, but the images of the guy snogging Ginny then moving on to the next girl to compare them fills his brain, making him feel sick.

Seamus interrupts, still laughing. “For the guys? Then it’s me for sure. But I don’t know who’s the best out of the girls. I’ve snogged quite a lot of them. Some of them are amazing, and others are shit.”

“Fuck off have you,” Dean laughs too. “You’ve snogged Lavender, and that’s it.”

“Nah, I’m being honest with you. Weasley turned me down. It’s only her and Granger I haven’t snogged, truth be told.”

Ron sits bolt upright, all his fury at Dean forgotten as his heart pounds an irregular beat against his ribcage. However, he tries to arrange his face into a calm look. A few times, his secret crush on Hermione has almost been exposed, mostly via mutterings in his sleep. But so far, he’s managed to keep a firm lid on it, or so he believes.

“I don’t think Hermione has snogged anyone,” says Neville.

Dean shakes his head. “I’d put five knuts on her having snogged someone. She went to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum, after all.”

“Doesn’t mean she kissed him.” Seamus shrugs.

Harry pipes up again. “She did.” He blushes as all eyes settle on him. “Only a small one, though.”

The rest of the room erupts in fits of laughter, but Ron can’t hear it over the roar of his heart in his ears. He digs his fingernails into his leg, ignoring the flare of pain as they break the skin. So, Harry knows that Hermione snogged Vicky, too? How many people did Hermione tell? How the fuck could his best friend keep something like this from him? Why hasn’t anybody told him?

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron can see that Harry is staring at him, but he refuses to meet the git’s gaze. His blood boils around his veins.

“She must be a good kisser then if she managed to keep Krum interested. Not exactly a looker, is she?” says Seamus, in between giggles.

Ron whips his head around to glare at Harry. Despite instigating this latest uproar, the specky git does nothing to stick up for their best friend. Their dorm mates are tearing apart Hermione’s honour right now, but Harry already has his nose buried back in that fucking map, tracing Draco’s path through the school. Harry is bloody obsessed with the Slytherin prick. He probably fucking fancies him.

“You can barely even see she has boobs when she’s in her jumper,” Dean agrees.

“Yeah, and don’t get me started on her hair.”

Neville frowns. “Now, come on, guys. I think you’re being a bit mean. Hermione’s alright.”

“Oohhh, she’s alright, is she?” Seamus rounds on Neville now.

Dean joins in, wiping his eyes. “Aww, that’s nice. At least someone likes her.”

No longer in control of his reactions, Ron jumps to his feet, trembling hands clenched at his sides.

“Enough!” he roars, loud enough so that everyone has their attention pinned on him. “Leave her alone! What the fuck has she ever done to you?” He gestures around the dormitory, daring any of them to speak up. “Don’t get her involved in your bullshit talk.”

“Oh, so it’s alright for us to discuss snogging your girlfriend, but not Hermione Granger?” Seamus slides off his bed, squaring up to Ron. “You need to work out where your loyalties lie. If Lavender found out, she wouldn’t be pleased.”

Ron eyes his friend, trying to determine if he should punch him. After a moment’s deliberation, he decides it’s not worth it. Ron is a prefect and is supposed to be setting a good example. Plus, there’d probably be a fight, and he isn’t sure he has the energy for that tonight. Seamus has a good right hook, after all.

“Fuck off.” Ron pushes past Seamus and strides towards the door, yanking it open. He leaves the dormitory without looking back, pulling the door closed behind him so hard, he’s sure everyone in Hogsmeade can hear the resounding thunk. The dormitory bursts into another round of hysterical laughter, fuelling Ron’s rage.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he reaches the common room with a loud huff, only to meet a startled Hermione at the foot of the staircase. Ron’s face floods with heat as she eyes him up and down, a disparaging look on her face.

“Ron, wh—”

He doesn’t give her the chance to finish her question.

“Leave me alone.”

Stomping towards the portrait hole, Ron barks at the Fat Lady to open without saying please, before heading out. He picks a random direction, then walks.

Fuck the lot of them.

Fuck his friends for being dicks about Hermione and girls in general. No wonder Harry wanted to keep out of it all. And fuck that specky git for not jumping to Hermione’s defence. Fuck Hermione for choosing now to break her months of silence, only to piss him off even more. But most of all, fuck his fucking feelings for making him react so defensively about the fucking witch in the first place. 

He’s never going to live this down, for fuck’s sake.

[cullen-collective]

do it. write it. do it

Say. Less. 

*

There’s never anyone actually interesting in these chats. 

There’s me, who actually wants to discuss music, the way it feels, the lyrics’ poetic meanings, the way the drums crash like they’re my own heartbeat. And then there’s guys who might want to discuss that, but are probably here for the other occupants of the forum: girls obsessed with band members. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against them, and I fully understand geeking out over Pete Wentz (although I’ve always been more of a Stump girl) or Gerard Way or even Chester Bennington. I just keep having to switch to new forums when it’s clear that no one else wants to talk about the music, but instead have guys who claim to look like Adam Lazarra scam the email addresses and photos off those girls. 

Which brings me here, to another new forum chat, scrolling through older posts about who drums harder: Travis Barker or Mike Kinsella, as the chat scrolls by on the right side of the screen. I was mindlessly scrolling, mentally agreeing or disparaging the opinions of other posters, too scared to comment. This site was pretty neat, and the account I’d had to create to post comments and chat had spaces for a list of my favorites, which I’d happily included. It also had a little bio, which I’d filled in with my name and age, as well as one of my favorite lyrics.

I kept one eye on the chat as it went, keeping up with the current discussion of how best to cut your bangs. I typed up a quick note that the best way to cut your bangs was to see a local hairdresser so you didn’t end up with Buffy season three bangs instead of the side-sweep you wanted. 

Emo-ward: But is it really, truly in the spirit of punk rock if you don’t cut them yourself?

HellsBells: I think to be a real punk, you’d probably need to like different bands. To be alt, you can visit a salon or resign yourself to botched hair. 

Emo-ward: Seems like the majority is going to choose the second option.

HellsBells: Well, sometimes we must suffer for the cause. 

Emo-Ward wants to send you a private message. Accept. Decline. 

I was stunned. No one ever requested me. My cursor hovered over “Accept”, my finger twitching. My mother, as scattered as she was, had always warned me about being too open online. What if this was like, a forty-five year old man who preyed on kids in chat rooms? What if it was a serial killer? What if it was someone from school trying to humiliate me? What if it was a kid from school who wanted to humiliate me and also did a little serial killing on the side? 

Okay, I was being ridiculous. I knew nothing about this person. Hell, I hadn’t even looked at their profile. So I right-clicked the name in the chat and opened another window to his profile. Like mine, the profile had no picture, and instead had a graphic. It was Gerard Way but his hair had been edited to be bright green. I snorted, remembering my own, which was Britney Spears edited with a scene girl haircut that this chick in my Western Civ class had emailed to me as a joke after seeing the Ataris CD in my portable player. The name listed was Edward, the age as 16, and he had a lyric on his profile too. 

“Watching from the floor.”

I recognized it, small as it was. It was from “Dear Maria, Count Me In”. I was a little surprised. Great song choice. 

It seemed he wasn’t too sketchy. 

I went back to the original page, steeled my nerves and hit “Accept.” 

Emo-ward: Do you really have time in your veins? 

My tongue pressed to the inside of my cheek. If this really was a sixteen-year-old boy, I was in trouble. He had just referenced the lyric in my bio, (from “Understanding In A Car Crash”: “It starts and stops and starts and stops again.”) and made it a joke. I had to one-up him. 

HellsBells: Yes. I am also a pen.

Emo-ward: Where are you from, girl with time in her veins who is somehow also a pen?

I smiled at my screen. I couldn’t help it. He was kind of funny. 

HellsBells: Forgive me, sir, if I’m not very specific. I’m from the Southwest. You?

Emo-ward: Well, miss, I will follow suit. I’m from the Northwest. 

There was something about the way he wrote that made me want to trust him. Maybe it was that we had similar chat styles. Although… My mother had always said I talked like I was sixty. What if he was sixty?! Edward is an old man's name. 

HellsBells: You kind of talk like an old guy, you know that, right?

Emo-ward: That’s because I’m 104. 

HellsBells: Wow. You use the internet pretty well for a senior citizen.

Emo-ward: They had us take a class. So, what’s your favorite album right now?

I smiled. Funny, and hopefully not an old guy. 

HellsBells: Will you stop talking to me if I say Take This to Your Grave?

Emo-ward: Only if you stop talking to me for saying mine is Meteora. 

HellsBells: Only if you tell me your favorite song off the album is Numb. That’s where I draw the line. 

Emo-ward: While that song isn’t my favorite, it’s pretty good. Anyway, the actual favorite is Somewhere I Belong. 

I thought about that for a minute. I liked that song, but I hadn’t listened to it a lot. I’d have to give it another go. I had Meteora around here somewhere. I found the album in my bookshelf, put it in my portable player, and put the headphones on. I skipped to the right track, and let it play while I answered. 

HellsBells: Not that you asked, but mine is Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes.

Emo-ward: Aggressive. I like it. 

I burst out laughing. Out loud. In my house. On a school night. At eleven. 

“Bella?” my mom called from across the hall. “Are you on the computer?” 

Shit. “Uh… no?”

I heard Mom start giggling. “Go to bed, kid!” 

“Okay!” I grimaced at the screen. No way I was ever going to hear from this guy again. But… I had to try, right? He was funny, and he had great taste in music. 

HellsBells: Well, grandpa, if you can get the orderlies at the nursing home to let you use the computer on Friday, I’ll be here. Until then, I’m not an adult and have to deal with things like school nights. 

Emo-ward: I’m sorry about that. I never sleep, so my school nights are exactly like regular nights. I’ll be here. 

I shook my head at that, holding in a giant smile. You know what, fuck it, I let the smile loose. It wasn’t like he could see me. And I let “Somewhere I Belong” play on repeat until I fell asleep. 

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Hi!

I've been reading your posts about Rosalie because I love her, and I was wondering if or how you would see her healing from her past/becoming more content with her vampirism.

She doesn't seem happy with the Cullens, as you have written about, but I they provide structure and "humanity" for her. However if she didn't have Emmett as a mate/admirer, she may be able to grow and not rely on her looks in regards to her feelings of safety and control.

I would love to know what you think! I admire all your work :)

So, some thoughts on Rosalie and on Rosalie's happiness vs. staying with the Cullens.

And ooof, I think it’s a long road to recovery. Not impossible but... hard, and certainly by Twilight, Rosalie isn’t anywhere close to being there yet. It’s a bit like curing Marcus of depression, it could happen, but there’s reasons we don’t see it in canon.

Where is Rosalie in Canon and What’s Up With the Cullens?

Rosalie’s relationship to the family is complicated but I do think she’s far better off with them than she would be on her own or with another coven.

Rosalie adores her family and does view them as primarily that, a family. She’s specifically close with Carlisle, but even those like Alice she’s fond of though knows Alice isn’t all that fond of her. She has her spats with Edward but ultimately loves him and likely doesn’t realize quite how low his opinion of her really is.

However, Edward disparages her constantly, bringing up things like her rape as insults and humiliating her in front of the entire family for something she’s genuinely struggling with. Emmett notably never stands up for Rosalie, at least, not beyond “Yeah, she’s a bitch, but she’s my bitch.” And even decades later still struggles notably with the trauma of her rape, her murder, and her inhumanity.

However, as you note, the Cullens provide her human life and human structure. This is the closest Rosalie can get to truly being human, the furthest from being a demon, and she lives this life in a seemingly meaningful way for the betterment of mankind. She’s able to pursue opportunities she never could as a human and marries a man, who does love her for all his faults, that she never would have otherwise.

Rosalie, in other words, is functioning.

She could be better and accept herself, what happened to her, and truly move forward. She could also be much worse.

And that’s the trouble, she’s hit this comfortable plateau, to get beyond this she has to want to change and change must be thrust upon her.

And I don’t think Rosalie wants to change.

Rosalie and the Past

Part of Rosalie’s issue is she both clings to and romanticizes the past as well as humanity itself.

What happened to her was awful and I think part of the way she’s coped with it is imagining what might have been. It’s not even that, really, but this pleasant fantasy of the life she could have lived.

Rosalie could have been human. She could have been a human mother, had a child, she could have married a human Emmett and lived a simple, good, life.

When Rosalie talks to Bella about what she’s going to lose, what Rosalie feels so strongly about, she never truly acknowledges that this wasn’t a life Rosalie Hale was going to have.

Rosalie’s parents were social climbers, Rosalie knew that they were using her beauty and her charm to marry her into money. Royce was utterly irresistible to them, though they didn’t know what he truly was. Even had it not been Royce, I imagine Rosalie may very well have ended up with someone similar.

And if she did not, she would almost certainly have been regulated to the role of a rich man’s wife. Her children go to boarding school, she barely sees them, she has tea with ladies but is unable to interact with business or a man’s world.

That idyllic country dream with Emmett: that was never her life.

And that’s what human life is. It’s hard, it’s not fair, and so often we do not get what we want based on arbitrary circumstances we’re born into. Rosalie has painted that away.

I think to heal, Rosalie would have to admit that humanity is not what she thinks it is. It’s not this golden idea. It’s nothing bad either. It just is, it’s a different state of being that, in and of itself, could not guarantee her happiness.

Happiness is for Rosalie to grab, not for humanity to thrust upon her.

Rosalie and Her Loss of Fertility and Identity

Being infertile left a large, traumatizing, mark on Rosalie. Women (still are but especially then) were defined by their ability to bear children. To be barren or to not have children was a mark against you: you have in some manner failed as a woman.

In losing her ability to have children all of this is stripped from Rosalie. She will never be a mother, will forever be something like a girl, and she loses much of her sense of personhood in that.

And this... This might even be harder than coming to terms with her rape. This is painful. Rosalie will have to confront the deepest, most gruesome, hurts within her and take a good long look at them.

She’ll have to let go of both her fantasies, the society she came from and what it expected of her, and the hypothetical child she will never have.

Many people do not get over this and... To be honest, I don’t know how Rosalie would either. It’s not something I see her wanting to face about herself.

Perhaps, in helping to raise Renesmee, this will lessen. Except Renesmee is not her child, looks very much like a mixture of Bella and Edward. And Renesmee is also... Renesmee, she’s a very alien inhuman child who is bound to only become stranger with aid.

Perhaps, in realizing Renesmee is not what she pictured, Rosalie will be able to confront this and let her longing for a child go. She could just as easily cling to it with all of her might.

Rosalie Doesn’t Want to Change

Perhaps the most damning is that Rosalie is comfortable as of canon. She could be better, she could be worse, but she doesn’t seem to want to change. Would she want to be human? Yes. But she can’t, and she’s settled for what she has.

Bella Swan was the biggest catalyst her family has seen in a long time.

Bella forced Rosalie to confront the worst aspects of herself: all those open wounds related to her death, her vampirism, and what she lost.

Bella throws everything Rosalie ever wanted out the window without a care in the world (and somehow gets the child anyway). Bella pursues a man who is anything but human to live this empty shell of a life.

Bella is the thing that should have had Rosalie taking a deep, long, look at herself and realizing what she needs to to get better and move on.

The catalyst was there, the pieces were set, and yet Rosalie doesn’t.

Rosalie doesn’t heal because she does not wish to. Because it’s hard, it’s painful, it’s extremely unpleasant. So she interacts with this woman who is so unlike her, who doesn’t share any values with her at all, but she does not reflect upon herself.

The prime opportunity slips her by.

Okay But How Would She Heal?

I think Bella, in many ways, was her best chance. Bella was the ultimate foil for Rosalie, representing everything Rosalie would not do while still being very human. More, (at least at this point), Rosalie sees Edward and Bella find happiness in each other with inhumanity. Bella doesn’t sacrifice her humanity for this, she gladly trades it away.

And that could have been enough for Rosalie to realize that, perhaps, she is not damned. Perhaps, she too, can find peace and happiness with who and what she is.

Well, that ship sailed.

Her next options are much harder.

The Cullens fall apart or Renesmee leaves on a journey of self discovery.

In the first case, Rosalie’s crutch of humanity is gone, the family is gone. This will be devestating for all involved but especially her. She’ll have to reevaluate her entire life, who she is, and what she wants to do. She could heal from this. She could also become very codependent on Emmett. It could go either way.

As for Renesmee leaving, if this is before the family split, that will be a huge blow to Rosalie. It’s Renesmee as Bella 2.0, rejecting everything Rosalie believes in, the Cullen family and way of life, because it’s not enough for her. Rosalie will have to reflect on her relationship with Renesmee, with the family at large, and with vampirism in search for answers. This will be painful but could be a healing process for her.

But I don’t think the road to Rosalie’s recovery will be a pleasant one. If it was pleasant, she’d be further along than we see her in canon.

[love-and-monsters]

Harpy Model

M harpy X GN human, 6,762 words.

This story is based on this post that I was tagged in by the lovely and talented @p-gretz. Thanks for the inspiration!

You fumbled with the camera equipment in your hands. The tripod kept trying to escape under your elbow, but shifting to secure it would mean losing the lens cap, and grabbing for that jeopardized the magnifier you had balanced against your collarbone. If people stopped dumping things on you at every given opportunity, you probably would have been alright, but being the lowest member on the totem pole meant your status was barely better than a self-propelled table.

The tripod slipped another inch down and you automatically grabbed at it. The sudden movement unbalanced the camera in the center of the pile. With a clatter of plastic, it slipped free, tumbling toward the ground.

A feathered hand snagged the camera strap, jerking it to a halt seconds before it struck the ground. “Need some help?” a slightly accented male voice asked.

“Thanks, but I got it,” you said. A total lie. You could not have had it less if you’d tried.

“Nonsense. At least let me take something so you can get better situated.” Before you could protest again, he had removed several of the objects, tucking them into his feathered arms.

Without the constant danger of dropping something if you so much as twitched, you were able to shift the pile in your arms into a better position. “Thank you. I’m sorry, I-”

You froze. It felt embarrassingly out of character for you to look at someone and freeze, but his face made something in your chest do backflips.

He was elegantly made up, with touches lengthening his lashes and emphasizing his cheekbones. His hair was pale and curling in little waves around his ears. Delicate feathers sprouted around his neck, trailing down toward his arms. They were pale white, with touches of pink. His tail was easily the most striking part of him. Long, green feathers made a train behind him that brushed the floor and gave him the impression of a trailing cloak. He stood delicately on bird-like talons, poised like a dancer.

Fortunately, your freeze only lasted a couple of seconds, and you disguised it by pretending to drop and recover one of your many items. “Sorry. I’m trying to go to studio, um. A12, so I’ll just be heading over there-”

The man laughed. It was more gentle than mocking, but you felt your stomach shrivel in embarrassment regardless. “Really? Then you’re heading in the wrong direction. I’m headed in the same direction. I can walk you there.”

“I wouldn’t want to bother you,” you said.

“It’s not a bother. You seem like you could use the help.” You blushed furiously, but the man didn’t seem to notice. He shifted the camera he’d taken from you into a more comfortable position in his arm. “Are you new here? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

“Yeah. I’m, um. The new intern, basically. You’ve been here for a while?”

“I work with a few different photography places as a model. But I’ve had a contract here for some time.” He flicked his tail casually. “If you need help, I can show you around a little bit when we’re done. This place can be a real maze until you get used to it.”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose on you like that. I mean, you’re probably really busy and I don’t want to take up any of your valuable time-”

The harpy laughed. “My time is hardly the most valuable time here. And, if we’re being really honest…” He leaned in close to your ear. His feathers tickled as he put a hand up to his mouth. “I don’t mind making some of the people around here wait. They’re all really stuck up.” He leaned back and dropped you a glittery wink before strolling on ahead. “Come with me! It’s this way.”

You hurried after him. He had a particularly flowing, graceful way of moving. It wasn’t hard to believe he was a model- even if you hadn’t met him in the studio, you would have guessed it. He moved like he was always on a catwalk.

The studio was particularly maze-like. There were multiple winding halls with several doors each. Only a few small signs gave any sign of where anything was, and casual racks of clothes strewn around the hallway blocked more than half of them. The harpy, however, strode through the halls with a practiced ease.

After several turns, you finally came across a door marked Studio A12. The harpy pushed the door open and paused to let you through before stepping in himself.

“Revali! You’re late!” An impatient-looking woman glared across the room at him. You froze automatically, but he just put down the equipment he’d been carrying on a nearby table and gave you a wink.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” he said. You turned away from him as your supervisor approached you.

“You’re late too,” he said.

“Sorry. I kind of got lost.”

“I know it’s your first week here, so I’m not going to scold you for this, but being on time is important here. At least for the photographers.” He cast a disparaging look at Revali who was chatting cheerfully with the stern-looking woman. “Models get more leeway.”

“He doesn’t seem so bad,” you said. “I thought a lot of models here were kind of stuck up.”

“He’s not stuck up,” your supervisor agreed. “He’s got the opposite problem. He doesn’t take anything seriously. One of those types who float through life on nothing but their good looks.”

The photoshoot started right after he spoke and you were immediately swept up in the business of it all. Your job was essentially doing whatever anyone needed of you, and they needed a lot. You spent most of the time scrambling around, fixing lights, grabbing accessories, fetching camera equipment, and being a general gopher. The photoshoot lasted only an hour and a half, but you were exhausted by the time it was over.

You sagged by the door, waiting for your next task to be assigned. Revali was having some sort of conversation with his manager that seemed to be verging on an argument, at least on her end. Revali looked as casual as ever.

His manager said something stabbing a finger in his face. He didn’t even flinch. He just lifted one of his shoulders in a slight shrug and, with a flick of his tail, strolled away.

“Ready for the tour?” he asked as he walked over to you. He had a particular way of walking, like he was constantly on a catwalk. It really was more of a strut than a casual walk.

“I already said you don’t have to. And, um, I don’t want to get you in trouble.” You made a subtle head motion toward his managers, who was alternating between looking at her phone screen and glaring at him.

Revali tossed his head. “She’s not my mother. She doesn’t control me. I do what I like. And right now, I’d like to take you on a tour of the studio. Why don’t you come with me?”

You glanced back at his manager. Revali shifted in front of you, blocking her from your sight. “All right,” you said. “But it can’t take too long. I’ve still got other responsibilities to take care of.”

Revali nodded and gestured for you to follow him out the door. “Like I said, this whole place is kind of a maze. I swear, they designed every section to look as similar as possible. But, you can figure out where all the studios are because it’s broken into sections. The stairwells are always marked with the sections. Even numbers are always to the right when you get off the stairwells and odd numbers to the left. Here, I’ll show you how to get to a couple of the bigger studios-”

Revali was right- the entire place seemed to have been designed like a weird, spiraling maze. You ended up needing to take notes on everything he told you. When you finally came to a stop, you were almost dizzy from all the turns you’d needed to make.

“Where are we?” you asked, looking around. “I haven’t been in this part of the building before.” It was almost indistinguishable from the other parts of the building, with eh same florescent lights and powder blue walls, but there were larger signs next to every door and they were spaced closer together.

“Yes, you probably haven’t needed to come down here yet.” Revali opened one of the doors and stepped inside. It was a small room with a large mirror taking up most of one wall, a couch, a minifridge, and a few racks of fancy-looking clothes. “They’re the model rooms. Those of us who have long-term contracts here get our own little spaces when we’re not working.” He strode across the room and sprawled on his couch.

You stood in the doorway. One of the models taking an interest in you and then inviting you back to his personal room? It was hard to keep your imagination from going places. “Hey, uh. I don’t want to be rude, but if you invited me back here for some, uh, fun, I’m not really into casual flings, so-”

Revali shrugged. “Whether or not we have sex is entirely up to you. I’ve had a couple flings in here. Honestly, they didn’t do much for me.”

If he had been attempting to make you more comfortable, it had backfired. Great. Now you didn’t want to sit down anywhere. You remained in the doorway. “Why did you bring me here, then?”

Revali shrugged. “You seemed overwhelmed,” he said. “And it’s much quieter down here.” There was a series of thumps and cursing on the other side of the wall. Revali glared at it. “Mostly, anyway.”

You plucked up your courage and settled on the couch next to him. He grinned. “Also, it’s lunch time and I like eating with other people. I make way too much food all the time.”

Revali grabbed a few Tupperware containers out of his minifridge and lay them out on the table next to you. Most of them appeared to be some sort of meat covered in a thick sauce. Revali was looking at you eagerly, so you took the fork he was offering and took a bite.

“Oh!” you said. “It’s good!”

“Yeah?” Revali said. “I cook when I’m stressed, so I always have more food than I need.” You took a few more bites, enjoying the richness and spiciness of the sauce over the umami of the meat. Revali leaned back, watching you eat with a strange amount of intensity.

“Um. Are you going to have some?” you asked, gesturing to the food. Revali made a face.

“Can’t. I have my own lunch here.” He pulled out an uninspired-looking salad with a few strips of grilled chicken on top.

“You make food, but then you don’t eat it?” you asked. Revali shrugged.

“The life of a model. I do need to keep in shape,” he said. “But I’m always cooking, so you can come over any time you want. I’ll give you a free lunch.”

“You could try at least one bite,” you said. You lifted a piece of meat on your fork and held it out to him. Revali lifted a brow. “Come on. You made all this. I’ll feel bad if I’m the only one who gets to eat it.”

Revali’s brow lifted a little higher. “Well, if you’ll feel bad, I suppose I have no choice but to spare your feelings.” You had intended for him to take the fork from you, but instead, he leaned forward and picked the chunk of meat off the fork with his teeth. He sprawled back and chewed, eyes closing. “Mm. It is good.”

You glanced around the room. It was slightly messy, with clothes and makeup strewn all over the place. Nothing was dirty, but it was a little cluttered. “How did you get into modeling, anyway?”

Revali opened his eyes and pushed himself more upright. “It was a few years ago. Just started doing a few local things, then I got scouted by my current agency. It’s not the most fun, really, but it’s pretty good money. Better than flipping burgers at a fast food restaurant, at least.” He shrugged. “Never finished college, so my job prospects are pretty limited.” He eyed you. “What about you?”

“I finished college a month or so ago. Studied photography. I’m hoping that this internship will lead to an actual job in the future, because right now I’m kind of living off my savings.” You gave a weak chuckle. “I kind of wanted to do my own photography thing, but, you know. Better to have a stable job.”

“Don’t I know it. I’d love to do some more interesting projects, but these ones pay well, which is what my manager likes.” Revali checked his phone and grimaced. “I’m going to have to head to my next shoot in a few minutes. You can hang out here if you like. Just put stuff back when you’re done with it.”

“I should probably be getting back now anyway,” you said, standing up. “Thank you for the lunch, though. You’re a good cook.”

“Thank you. Come back any time. Like I said, I’ve always got food. Actually, let me walk you back to the photo area. Just to make sure you get there all right.” Revali held the door open for you as you stepped into the hall.

“I’m not that hopeless,” you said, starting to head down the hallway. Revali snickered and you stopped. “What?”

“You sure?” he said. “Because, uh, you are going the complete wrong direction.”

“Oh,” you said. “I. Um. That’s embarrassing.”

“You’ll get used to it. Eventually. Here, I’ll show you the way.” Revali linked his arm through yours. “This all right?”

“Sure,” you said. “Thank you. Again.”

“No problem at all! Now, we should probably hurry, so I don’t get yelled at twice in one day. My manager would blow a blood vessel.” Revali headed off at a rapid trot, forcing you to jog to keep up.

Meeting him for lunch became a regular practice after that. He usually had something new and interesting for you to try, and he seemed to enjoy your company. Every day, you would slip out of work and head down to his dressing room for at least half an hour. A few times, you lost track of the time and had to sprint to make it back to your next shoot.

“They’re really putting you through the ringer, huh?” Revali said as you collapsed on his couch. He was wearing the sparkliest blue jacket you’d ever seen. Whether it was actually for a shoot or not was up in the air- Revali was the sort of person who would wear it out and about.

“It’s all right. I wish I was allowed to do more than just menial labor, though. I knew I was going to get the tasks people didn’t like when I started, but I wish I had more learning experiences. I feel like I’ve barely held a camera for something other than handing it to someone.”

Revali stretched his arms over his head, wings twitching. It was always interesting to watch the way they moved. They were a combination of wings and arms, with feathers sprouting all along his arms and the wing tip and hands separating at the wrists. Whenever he wore long sleeves, he needed to cut slits for the feathers and tied the ends closed around his wrists. They were usually tied closed with some sort of bangle, so he nearly always jingled when he moved his arms. “That’s a bummer. Have you been able to take any photos at all recently?”

“Nah. I’ve been too busy. When I get home from work, all I want to do is collapse. And I’ve been having trouble getting inspiration. I’ve been trying to get out more and do some shoots in nature, because it’s a lot nicer than the manufactured settings we have here, but I’ve been having trouble finding a model.”

Revali sat up straighter. “Having trouble finding a model, hm? Well, isn’t is just so fortunate that I happen to have some skills in that particular department?”

“Are you sure? I can’t really pay you much. That’s part of the reason I’ve been having trouble getting some models. When your job isn’t paying you anything, you can’t afford to hire someone for an afternoon. And I’m just not connected enough to find someone willing to do it for free.”

“I think we can help each other out,” Revali said. “I do actually need some new photos for my portfolio, and I think it would be nice to have a more natural setting. Let me use the photos and I’ll do it for free.”

“You’d be willing to do that? And you’re not too busy? I know you’ve kind of been running ragged for the past few days,” you said.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. Like I said, it gives us both something we want.” He whipped a phone out of his pocket and started tapping on the screen. “Let’s see. I’m free Saturday afternoon, if that works for you?” You nodded. “Wonderful. Text me your address, I’ll stop by and you can take me wherever you want.”

Your phone timer dinged and you jumped to your feet. “Oh, shoot, I need to get going. Um, I guess I’ll see you then? And thank you!”

“Don’t worry about it, cutie. Just go.” He waved a hand at you. “I’d hate to see you get yelled at on my behalf.”

You scrambled out the door, waving goodbye to him once more before heading down the hall.

Waiting for Saturday became the highlight of your week. You deliberated over the best location, eventually picking a slightly secluded, riverside area. Revali had agreed to bring some of his own outfits, which he had allowed you to approve. They were simpler than the outfits he usually wore to work, with more natural colors, but he still looked good in them.

You spent a lot of time fussing with your cameras on the day of the shoot. It would be terribly embarrassing for Revali to show up and see you unprepared.

The knock on your door was startling. You carefully placed your camera on your table and hurried to answer it.

Revali was leaning against the doorway. “Hello, darling. Ready to go?”

He was wearing some fancy-looking gold and silver makeup and he’d done something to plump up his tail. It was long and fancy typically, but he’d added long lines of beads and fluff to his tail, making it look even more striking than usual.

“Wow,” you said. You were suddenly overly conscious about how messy your hair was and the fact that you’d just kind of thrown on the first clothes you’d laid your eyes on in the morning. Would it be weird if you made an excuse to go change? “Uh. Do you want to come in for a minute? I just, uh, need to finish something up.”

Revali stepped into your house. “Nice place,” he said, glancing around. You snorted.

“Please. I’m renting a house in the middle of nowhere that has, like, three rooms. Uh, make yourself comfortable. I just need to, um. Grab a jacket.”

“It’s nicely decorated, though. You have a good aesthetic sense.” Most of the stuff you had was from second-hand stores, but it did all sort of go together in a sort of farmhouse-chic way.

You hurried into your room and swapped your old sweatshirt out for a nicer shirt and one of your nicer jackets. The pants were staying, they were good enough. You hurried back out into the kitchen. Revali was examining a few of the photos that adorned your walls.

“You take these?” he asked. They were mostly nature shots, images of animals or flowers up close or landscape shots of rolling fields or mountains.

“Yeah. Most of them were for class. I just hung up the best ones,” you said.

“They’re nice. I like them. Do you like taking picture of nature better? Than of people, I mean.”

“Um. I mean. They’re both nice, just in different ways. There’s something really meditative about taking pictures of nature. It’s peaceful. Working with people can be harder, but it’s also kind of rewarding? Like, taking photos for a wedding is really nice. You get to capture a really great moment in someone’s life and then, when they look back at it, you help them remember the good moments. I like being able to do that for people.”

Revali looked at you. His eyes were bright, assessing. “Why do you work for the studio? It’s not any of those things you said, peaceful or rewarding. It’s mostly just stressful.”

“It makes money,” you said as you headed for the door. “Why do you work for the agency?”

There was a pause, long enough for you to get in the car. “Because it makes good money,” Revali finally said. “And it also means I get my face out there. I like being well known, you know.”

“I can’t imagine wanting that. I like being behind the scenes way more.”

Revali settled back in the seat and watched the fields roll by. “Where are we headed?”

“Um, there’s this nice little riverside area in a stand of trees. I thought it might make for some pretty photos.” You glanced at him uncertainly. “I hope that’s okay with you. I know you said you’d be okay with a nature shoot, but hope you’re not going to be too upset with a little dirt. I’ll try to keep you out of it, but-”

Revali burst into peals of laughter. You twisted your head to stare at him before realizing that you should probably keep your eyes on the road. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t laugh! It just struck me as very funny, but you had no way of knowing, of course.” Revali wiped a stray tear away. “Do you know where I grew up?”

“No,” you said. He hadn’t told you, had he? Revali seemed unoffended. He ran a hand through his hair, which somehow still looked artfully tousled. You were temporarily distracted by the way little tufts curled loosely around his ears. Hurriedly, you turned your gaze back to the road.

“I grew up on a farm,” he said. He fluttered his feathers. “I’m a cockerel harpy- I’ve got my fancy show feathers, but I’m not exactly a bird of paradise. It’s a family thing. I grew up working in the dirt and mud, and whenever I go home, I’m expected to do it again.”

“I never would have guessed,” you said honestly. He had the soft looks of someone who had never worked hard labor, but when you looked him over again, you could see how his smooth muscles might have come from farm work. “Your family didn’t mind, then, you going to be a model?”

“You think I have some sob story about running away from my strict farm father to pursue my dreams of being in the spotlight?” Revali smirked at you. “No. My father was disappointed, I think. He did want me to carry on the tradition. But I’ve got two younger sister who are much more invested in the farm life, so he didn’t have any fears about passing everything on and both my parents are the ‘follow your dreams’ sort, so they probably would have let me go anyway. I’m not sure they understand what I see in modeling, but they support me nonetheless.”

It was a short drive to the little grove. You parked out of the way and gathered your camera equipment while Revali looked around the area. “It’s pretty,” he said, inspecting a spray of yellow flowers. “You have a good eye.”

“Thanks.” You carefully placed the tripod. “Okay, first things first. I want to get some full-body portraits first, then we can move on to the up-close stuff.”

Revali was easy to work with, easier than you would have guessed from the number of arguments he got into with his manager. He posed gracefully, responded to your every critique thoughtfully and carefully, and even put up with your artistic considerations with far more patience than you would have expected. Even when you spent several minutes forcing him to hold a pose while you got the angle just right, he didn’t complain.

About two hours after you had started, you called a break. Revali shrugged his artfully-held jacket back on and lounged against a tree. “Can I see some of the photos?” he asked.

You considered for a moment, then handed the camera over with the same care you would with a baby. Probably more, really. “Just don’t break anything, all right?”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Revali said. “I’ve only ever dropped two cameras. And one of them survived with only minimal damage!” You stared at him in wide-eyed horror. “I’m kidding! I’ll be very careful.”

He clicked through the camera’s photo roll. You sat nearby, leg jittering nervously. His expression was inscrutable.

“These are nice,” he said after a few moments. “I mean, they’re quite good. Better than a lot of the shoots I’ve been to recently. I like the shadow and light here.” He tapped at the photo on screen. You leaned over to see which one he was talking about. It was one of the close-ups, where Revali was staring up through the trees. The sunlight dappled leaf shadows across his face and picked up the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.

“It’s just a photo of your face,” you said, a little embarrassed by the praise. “I mean, it’s hard to make you look bad.”

“Oh, you’re being too modest. A poor picture can make anyone look bad and my lovely face can only do so much. You’re the one who set up the shot and was all clever with the lighting and whatnot.” Revali gave a little wave of his hand. “Honestly, it’s better than a few of my modeling pictures. And you’re much better at giving direction than most of the people at the studio. I swear, the number of times I just get told to look pouty at the camera is ridiculous. Or ridiculously esoteric shit. ‘Think about your best friend returning after a long time away’ my ass. Just tell me exactly what to do with my face and I’ll do it.” He stopped and gave you a slightly embarrassed look. “Not to make this about me, of course. But yes, you are quite good. It’s a shame you don’t get more projects.”

You shrugged. “I’d like to do more independent stuff. But I just don’t have any connections and I’ve been having a hard time getting gigs and, well, it’s just hard when you’re getting started.”

Revali tilted his head to one side. “Things will get better,” he said. You huffed out a sigh.

“I hope so. I’m gonna go crazy if I don’t get to do something interesting in my actual job soon.” You fiddled with a few of the camera settings again. “Ready?”

“Certainly.” The photoshoot commenced once more. Revali seemed to be putting his all into the shoot, which you appreciated. He probably could have slipped by with just posing halfheartedly, but he was really putting effort forward.

You spent longer on a photoshoot than you had expected. Revali was nice to work with, cracking little jokes at every opportunity and being patient with any technical mishaps. The sun had started to sink toward the horizon by the time you were done.

“Sorry that took so long,” you said. “I didn’t mean to take up your weekend.”

“I’m really fine.” Revali flicked his tail, combing his fingers through the long feathers. “You apologize a lot, don’t you?”

“I just don’t want to come across as rude,” you said. Revali laughed.

“That’s one thing you certainly don’t do,” he said. “I enjoyed myself.”

“Still,” you said as the pair of you headed back toward his car, “why don’t I buy you dinner? It’s the least I can do.”

Revali looked down at you. His dark eyes glittered with interest. “If you’re offering, then I’ll certainly take you up on it.”

It took some driving around, but you eventually settled on a small café fairly close to Revali’s townhouse. He selected some sort of salad and you picked out a sandwich. Revali was right, the place was quite good. “I’ve never been here before,” you said. “I guess I haven’t been eating out for lunch as much, though.”

“I’m pleased my cooking is so good to you,” Revali said. He picked at his salad, moving the leaves around more than he was eating them. A knot started to form in your stomach.

“Hey.” Revali looked up. Your tone must have been strange because his expression became serious. “Um. You don’t, um. Eat much.”

Revali lowered his fork. “Ah. I did notice you staring during meals, but I suppose I was trying to flatter myself, thinking it was entirely my good looks.”

You felt hot. “I’m sorry, I know it might be rude to bring it up. But I’m just a little worried. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Hm,” Revali muttered. He put down his fork and shifted in his seat. His feathers rustled and ruffled. “I did have some trouble with eating well when I was younger. It never developed into a full-blown disorder, but I have always had a bit of an issue with maintaining my looks. I suppose my current representation isn’t helping with this issue.”

“Your manager?” you guessed. Revali gave a tight-lipped smile.

“Yes. I gained a pound the other week and got a bit of a lecture for it. Apparently, thin men are in right now. Harpies are usually fine boned and slender and all that, but I suppose it’s not quite enough for her.” A swell of anxiety crested behind his words.

You fiddled with a toothpick. “Can you get new representation?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t. She is the only available representative for the company I have a contract with right now. And even if I could switch, I don’t have any guarantee that the next manager would be any better. Extreme dieting is not exactly uncommon in the modeling industry.” He sighed, picking up his fork and poking at the salad a few times before spearing a large bite and shoving it into his mouth. “The contract actually expires in a couple weeks,” he said, swallowing the bite. “She’s not happy about it. She really wants me to sign on again, but I haven’t done it yet.”

“What’ll you do if you don’t sign on again? Try to go somewhere else?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been modeling for a few years now. I’m not sure what else to do. But I’ll admit, I don’t love the culture. It’s not great for my mental health, in all honesty. I just don’t know what else to do.”

He looked so despondent that you couldn’t help but reach across the table and take his hand. He stared at your fingers for a moment before lifting his gaze to yours. “I’m sure whatever you chose will be the right thing,” you said. “I think, if your modeling career is bad for your mental health, then you can quit. You’re more than just a pretty face, you know? You know more about photoshoots than you think you do. You’ve got a good sense for lighting and you’ve even got a better idea of colors than I do. And you’ve got a really great fashion sense. I think there’s a lot you could do.”

Revali blinked at you for a moment, then his face broke into a breathtaking smile. A blush stole across your face, blazing in your cheeks. He looked unbearably beautiful. It wasn’t just the features of his face, though they were all very good. It was the clear and genuine delight that the smile conveyed. “I don’t think I’ve had someone compliment me so sweetly in a long time! At least, not on something other than my looks.”

“Not to mention, you’re a kick-ass cook,” you added. Revali laughed and took a sip of his water. You weren’t sure, because he had quite a bit of makeup on, but you though you could see a hint of pink tinging his cheeks.

“If I’m looking for a less stressful job than modeling, I don’t think being a chef is a good choice. And I’m not quite good enough to be in the industry. But it is nice to have my skills complimented.” He took another sip. “But thank you. Being a model can make it so your looks are the most important part of your life. It’s good to be reminded they’re not the most important thing about me.”

You shrugged. “Hey, I’m not much in the looks department, so I’m pretty good at looking past that.”

“Now, now, don’t be modest. You’re quite cute yourself,” Revali said, dropping a glittery wink. You felt yourself flushing again.

After dinner, you returned home and bid Revali a farewell. You spent the evening examining the photos you’d taken. Most of them were quite good. At the very least, they would make good photos for your portfolio. You considered them for a few moments, then pulled up the bare bones of your website and started uploading the photos.

The next day, you joined Revali for lunch again. He was wearing more than his usual makeup, but even so, you could see the slight puffiness around his eyes. “Tired?” you asked.

“Ughh. My manager and I got into a fight last night, after I got home. Things were said.” He massaged his forehead. “Tell me something good, darling, I need it.”

“Um,” you said. “I set up my website last night? Or I started setting it up, at least.”

Revali focused fully on you. “Your website?”

“Yeah. Um, I hope you don’t mind, I put some of the pictures we took up there. I want to see if I can start freelancing, at least in my free time.” Revali perked up. The tired look slid off his face.

“I don’t mind. I’m used to having my pictures all over the place. So, you’ve decided to start doing your own thing, now?” He leaned toward you.

“At least a little bit. The hardest part will be getting clients. Once I build up a little bit of a base, I can start getting people by word of mouth and stuff. But it’s difficult now.”

“I’d expect so,” Revali said, but he appeared to only be half paying attention. His gaze had become a little unfocused, like he was thinking about something else. “You know what, my next shoot’s in a few minutes. You can hang out here if you want. I’ll see you later.”

You met for lunch a few times in the next couple of weeks. Revali’s mood seemed to have improved. He was much more cheerful and, to your great relief, he seemed to be eating more.

It was almost exactly two weeks after you’d had your photoshoot when Revali sought you out at work. “I was going to come by for lunch,” you said. “Is something wrong?”

Revali seized your hands. “No. Things are great! I just told my manager to fuck off!” He proclaimed it loudly enough that several people in the vicinity turned toward him. You ignored them.

“That is great! I’m so glad for you,” you said.

“That’s not everything,” Revali said. “I have a surprise for you.” His tail twitched and flicked with excitement. “Follow me!”

Revali tugged you through the building, down to his dressing room. “Okay. Remember how you were talking about having trouble getting clientele?”

“Yeah,” you said cautiously.

“Well, I’ve been a model for a while. Which means I have some connections and some favors.” Revali opened the door and tugged you inside. “So, I thought I’d call some in!”

The room did not look different. You looked cautiously at Revali. “Uh. What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“This!” Revali snatched a stack of papers off a table and thrust them at you. You flipped through them. “It’s the information of people who want to have photoshoots! There’s a couple of weddings, one person wants a pet thing, a couple of people want you to take photos for cosplays- I told them all that you were really good and you’re easy to work with and a bunch of people were willing to give it a shot.”

“You got me gigs?” There was a note of incredulity in your voice. “Like, paying gigs?”

“Yes! I told you, I have some contacts and some favors. I pulled a few strings.” Revali fluttered his wings.

“Thank you,” you said. “I don’t know what to say.”

“All the information you need is there. You can contact them all for more information, but it should have the basics.” Revali sprawled across his couch. “I figured that if I was going out, I might as well use my connections for good.”

“Going out?” you said, perching on the couch next to him.

“Yeah.” Revali rubbed at the back of his neck. “I told my manager to fuck off, remember? There’s a solid chance I’ll get blackballed for it, and even if I don’t, I don’t think I want to do this modeling thing anymore. It hasn’t been great for my mental health. And I’d like to be seen as more than just a pretty face.”

“You have plans?” you asked.

“No. I’ve got some money saved up. I figure I can afford to coast for a little bit. And if it really gets bad, I’m sure my dad would be happy to have me back on the farm.” He laughed, but you caught the slight downturn of his mouth. You ran your finger along the edge of the paper stack.

“If you’re interested, these are a lot of jobs. I think I could use a little bit of help,” you said. Revali blinked at you. “I can’t pay much, but it’ll be a little bit of money and if I start getting really good, I can hire you on full time. You’ve already shown you’ve got an eye for this stuff.”

“Really?” Revali said. He stared at you disbelievingly. “You’re willing to do that for me?”

“It would help me as much as it would help you. I mean, you’ve already been a huge help and you’re not even working for me yet. I think we’d make a good team.”

Revali looked enormously delighted. “Oh, thank you! You’re incredible!” With no warning, he ducked forward, his hands came up to the sides of your face, and he pressed his mouth to yours.

Your brain short-circuited temporarily. There wasn’t a single coherent thought in your mind. Just a bunch of sensations. Mouth. On your mouth. Kissing. Revali was kissing you. Passionately. His hands were on your face. His feathers were tickling you. His breath was warm on your face.

He broke away from you before you could gain enough sense to kiss back. Revali grinned sheepishly. “Oh. That was sort of supposed to be the grand finale. We were supposed to go out for dinner first. I just got excited.”

You pulled your thoughts together. “You were going to ask me out?”

“I thought you deserved something for taking me out a while ago. And I’ve been thinking about asking you out for a while. But you looked so cute there and I was very grateful, and I just couldn’t help myself,” he said. “I hope you didn’t mind too much?”

“No,” you said. “I didn’t mind. At all.” Revali smiled. You were drawn to the curve of his mouth, the fullness of his upper lip. “But, maybe just to make sure, we should do it again?”

Revali’s smile got bigger. “You know, I was thinking that I’m not going to have this dressing room much longer. There are a lot of things we could do in here. Celebrate our moving on and all that.”

“Let’s start with kissing,” you said, “and we can see where it goes.”

Revali leaned closer to you. “Start with kissing. I can do that.”

[puckwritesstuff]

Your Nari and Vali content are amazing! I have this prompt request about them. Vali is trying to prank everyone by hiding from them since she learned the invisibility spell that even Heimdall can't see. Nari dreaded this because he saw his spell books out of place. She revealed herself late at night in front of her very stressed family who were thinking what could've happen to her. She received the sermon of a lifetime from an angry and worried Loki. She's daddy's little girl after all.

Loki does not fuck around with magic safety, and if any of his children did something completely reckless with their magic, they would absolutely receive a lecture they would not soon forget.

Thank you for the ask!

---

As Loki approached the guardhouse at the end of the Bifrost bridge, he was thinking of three events that had happened over the course of the day that forced him to consult with his father-in-law. It wasn’t that he had a bad relationship with Heimdall— he often had a better relationship with him than with his own father— but Heimdall was still a foreboding presence, and there was the added factor of being his father-in-law.

Heimdall stood at his station, looking out at the stars beyond Asgard. Loki steeled himself as he approached.

“I suppose you already know why I’m here,” Loki said.

“I do,” Heimdall said. “But if you’d like to explain anyways, most people do.”

Loki rolled his eyes but recounted the events of the day.

When Loki crossed paths with his son that morning, he could almost see the cloud that floated over him. Nari’s face was screwed up in as much anger as his almost-adolescent features would let him have.

“Something wrong, Nari?” he asked.

“Váli went through my room again!” Nari said.

Loki gave an exasperated sigh. “I see.”

“My books were all over the place, the ones that got put back weren’t indexed properly,” Nari said. “Father, you must do something!”

Loki pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I am going to attempt to allow you to resolve this amongst yourselves,” Loki said, his voice tempered. “I will moderate if you would like. I will ask that you do not involve weapons or magic.”

Nari scoffed, rolling his eyes. “She always gets away with everything…”

Before Loki could respond, Nari stormed off.

A little after midday, Loki and Sigyn were approached by Lady Sif.

“Is everything all right?” Sigyn asked.

“I was supposed to meet with Váli for training,” Lady Sif said. “We were going to start on two-handed weapons today, but I haven’t been able to find her.”

Loki and Sigyn exchanged a look.

“I haven’t seen her all day,” Sigyn said.

“Nari was looking for her earlier,” Loki said. “I don’t know if he was able to find her. I almost hope he didn’t, I think he was looking for an argument.”

“He was looking for a fight, I saw him as well,” Sigyn said.

“Not to disparage a member of the royal family, but I doubt very much that Nari would win that fight,” Lady Sif said.

“Since when have you ever refrained from disparaging a member of the royal family?” Loki asked.

“Since I’m talking about a literal child and not a royal pain in the ass?” Lady Sif said.

“We will let her know you are looking for her,” Sigyn said.

“Thank you, Sig,” Lady Sif said, before leaving.

“Not like her to miss a training,” Sigyn said.

“No, it’s not,” Loki said.

He must have made a face, because Sigyn responded to it.

“Is something wrong, my heart?” she asked.

“Not that I can think of now,” he said. “But perhaps. I’ll look for Váli.”

Sigyn nodded.

Loki hadn’t found Váli by dinnertime. Odin stared intently at the empty chair where she would normally sit, visibly annoyed that she was late. Loki sat at his father’s right, watching his father’s gaze.

“Would you like me to—”

“Go speak with Heimdall,” Odin said.

“Very well,” Loki said.

After Loki recounted all of this, Heimdall nodded.

“This is troubling,” Heimdall said. “For I have not seen Váli for most of the day.”

Every terrible feeling hit Loki all at once— his heart froze and sank like a stone in the pit of his stomach. He felt ill, knowing that he dismissed Váli’s absence because in the back of his mind, he assumed that Heimdall was watching her.

“What happened?” Loki said. “Did you see who took her? Where might they have gone?”

“I’m not certain,” Heimdall said. “However, in the palace library, there is an unseen force that has been pulling books of magic from the shelves and opening them, more and more frantic throughout the day.”

Loki paused— he overtook his fear long enough to try and think logically.

“Ah,” he said. “I see.”

In the palace library, the books seemed to fly frantically off the shelves, pages turning quickly, and then threw themselves aside. Loki walked in and saw the pile of discarded books. His magic swirled around them to neaten up the pile and keep them from sustaining damage. The book that flew off the shelf last was huge and it took a moment to flip through all of it. Green magic swirled around Loki’s hand as Váli rematerialized into being, quickly paging through the book. She noticed her hands come back and looked up to see Loki standing there. She put down the book and ran over to hug him.

“Father, I didn’t mean to! I just thought it was a cool spell, and I don’t know much magic and Nari was being really mean about it and…”

She looked up at her father’s face, which looked back like it was made of stone. She backed up slowly.

“You thought it was a cool spell,” Loki said slowly. “Young lady, do you have any idea how dangerous it is to hide yourself from your grandfather?”

Váli looked down.

“I know you didn’t cast it right, because it turned you completely invisible,” Loki continued. “This is a spell far beyond anything your mother or I would have even attempted at this point in your training. But more to the point, even if you had cast it correctly, you obviously don’t know the counter spell. There’s a reason you are drilled constantly on the counter spells to any spell we teach you. This is why.”

To Váli, it wasn’t just that her father was admonishing her for not doing well in something she already didn’t feel she was particularly good at. What sunk into her chest as he spoke was his calm, even tone and just how quiet his voice was, and yet how it seemed to fill the entire library.

“You could have been hurt,” Loki said. “You could have been in danger. You could have needed our help, and you would have had no way to contact us and no way to return to us. You could have died. And we would never have known what happened to you.”

At the mere thought of losing her, Loki fought back the tightness in his throat and the tears that started to come. Váli sniffed.

“If you want to study magic, you need far more discipline than this,” Loki said. “This was an incredibly reckless and irresponsible act, and I cannot ignore it.”

Váli cringed at the impending punishment.

“But for now, you will return these books to their proper places and go to your room,” Loki said. “We will have food brought to you there, since you’ve missed dinner. I will discuss this with your mother, and we will decide on your punishment tomorrow.”

Váli nodded and started to pick up the books. Loki put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I love you, Váli,” he said. “And I want to encourage you to explore whatever avenues of study you wish to pursue. But I need you to do it safely, and I need you to do it responsibly, and I know you know what that looks like.”

“Yes, Father,” she said. “I understand.”

Loki watched her put the books away, directing her to where they went. He took her up to her room and went in with her. She turned to look at him.

“I just want to be as good as he is,” she said.

Loki sighed, hearing echoes of hundreds of years of his own inner voice saying the same thing.

“You and Nari are different people,” Loki said. “I know it’s hard to comprehend in this moment, but neither of you is better than the other. You just as worthy as your brother, and I love you just as much. But you frightened me today.”

“I never left the palace,” Váli said. “As soon as I realized what happened, I tried to find how to fix it.”

Loki nodded. “I understand. But please understand that the security of the palace is fundamentally built on your grandfather’s All Sight. If he cannot see you, you are not safe. And that opens you to terrible risk— more than most, as you are a princess of Asgard. I know that as a warrior, there will be times in the future when I cannot guarantee your safety. But until then, please do not intentionally do things that will put you in that kind of danger again.”

“I promise,” she said.

Loki stepped forward and hugged her. She hugged him back as he kissed the top of her head.

“I love you, Father,” she said. “And I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll have some food sent up, and then I need you to go straight to bed, yes?”

“All right,” she said.

[yeojaa]

finders keep hers, iii.

read parts one and two!  the long awaited conclusion!  i’m sorry it turned into a friggin’ novel.  i hope it does the first two parts justice, though.  these kids are...  idiots.  i love them and you (and also the best beta reader @hobi-gif​)!  💖

pairing.  jjk x named f!reader.  rating.  explicit, ofc.  tags.  this is...  really soft at certain parts.  and then really raunchy at others.  oops?  but fr - mainly fluff with some smut at the end.  you might need a filling.  wc.  5.4k.

You’re buzzed into the building without a moment’s hesitation, the kind concierge with the gummy smile and greying temples beaming at you as you enter.  “Nice to see you, Miss Lee.”

“You too, Mr. Choi.”  A grin of your own is offered, gym bag hiked higher over your shoulder as you pause to chat.  You’re in no rush.  “Is he home?”

“I don’t believe so.”  The sudden look of disapproval that colours the older gentleman’s features is almost comical, reminiscent of a disparaging parent.  It’s the same expression you’re greeted with nearly every time you visit.  “He left in a town car yesterday afternoon and I don’t think he’s been back since.  That boy’s going to get himself in trouble one day.”  As if Jungkook didn’t already - as if it didn’t follow him around, glued to the bottoms of his Italian leather shoes.

“Tell me about it.”

“You know…”  There’s that twinkle in Mr. Choi’s eyes again - the one that tells you he’s about to repeat the same words he always does when he catches you alone.  “A nice girl like you could get him to settle down.”

Your response is what it always is - a scoff and a laugh rolled into one.  It careens off your tongue, ringing in the spacious lobby.  “I don’t think anyone will ever get him to settle down.”

How true that is, you’re not sure.  For your sake, you try not to think about it too much. 

The old man is undeterred though, shrugging his narrow shoulders beneath the neat uniform he wears.  It’s a little loose in the chest but immaculate otherwise, tie knotted in a classic Windsor and collar ironed perfectly.  He levels you with that shrewd stare of his but says nothing further, simply engaging you in an unspoken staring contest. 

Sometimes, you wonder how much he sees.  How much he knows .

You break before he does, tearing your gaze away and blinking rapidly.  He laughs, full bellied and deep from the chest.  “Get on upstairs, Miss Lee.”  You aren’t offended by the dismissal.  “It’s always nice chatting with you.”

You remind yourself to bring him chocolates the next time you’re by.  The ones with hazelnuts, because those are his favourite. A fact you only know because you’ve helped your best friend pick up a box for him every Christmas, writing the card and having him sign it right before it gets left behind the desk.

Actually, you helped Jungkook with a lot of things.  Always had.  It was simply the nature of your friendship - passed down by your parents and forged stronger by childhood playdates, your fair share of teenage squabbling, and college hangovers so bad they’d created an unbreakable bond.  

Whenever he would need you, you’d be there - whether that meant picking him up at 4 AM from the airport because he wanted “some shitty fast food and to see you” or helping him pick gifts for Mother’s Day.  There was no task too small, no moment too inconsequential. 

Unconditional love, they called it. 

It’s why you have no problem swanning into his apartment with the extra key you’ve had since he moved in, kicking off your trainers and tucking them neatly alongside the rows of black leather and expensive sneakers.  

You do so much for him that you take where you can, indulging in all of the luxuries you’ve never been afforded.  Unparalleled view, stupidly expensive toiletries, a damn jacuzzi tub . 

You pull your sweater over your head - truthfully, one of Jungkook’s from college that you’d never felt inclined to give back - and toss it over the back of a barstool on your way into the guest suite.  Your bag follows shortly after, deposited at the foot of the bed that exists as a rotating welcome mat to your and Jungkook’s circle of friends.  

The rest of your clothes - sports bra, shorts, thong, socks - are stripped, folded, and tucked into the laundry bag you keep handy.  You know you could leave them here and Jungkook’s housekeeper would take care of it, but you’ve never been too comfortable with that.  Different upbringings.

The spray is like sweet relief the moment you step beneath the rainforest shower.  It’s the perfect temperature and pressure, melting the sweat and tension from your bones.  

But it isn't why you’re here, so you make quick work in the glass enclosure, scrubbing your body bare and lathering and conditioning your hair into a squeaky clean mess.  Any other time, you’d just spend a good half hour standing beneath the head but you’re feeling particularly indulgent today.  

Call it a spa day, courtesy of one Jeon Jungkook. 

You don’t bother to dry off, water splashing across the floor as you step from the shower and sink into the spacious tub that overlooks the heart of Seoul.  Diptyque bath oil encapsulates the room in a bubble of sweet almond, similarly branded candle burning on the ledge.  The jets release a steady stream against your tired back and legs, massaging your limbs into jelly. 

You can’t help the sigh of utter relaxation that rolls off your tongue, sinking into water in the same instance your shoulders do.    

This is what dreams are made of.  Anyone who says differently is an idiot and a liar. 

“When are you going to tell her?”

You’re not expecting the voice and it breaks the silence like a thousand pound weight, shattering the calm and nearly startling you enough for you to knock your head on the edge of the tub.  

There’s no reason for you to be surprised.  Not really.  This isn’t your home, after all.  You aren’t entitled to any sort of privacy.  

It doesn’t matter, though.  The discomfort in your chest is unfolding regardless, lodging rocks in your throat.  

Because it’s a female voice.  Lilting, soft, draped in familiarity.  Not someone brand new.  

Your heart stutters at the realisation.  The rush of blood against your eardrums is so loud you momentarily wonder whether they can hear it all the way in the living room.  They must be able to - it’s practically deafening.  You can’t even hear the rest of their conversation.

Their conversation .

Which seems to have ended, leaving only silence.

You suddenly remember your shoes, your sweater.  Traces of you littered throughout the apartment that isn’t yours.  God, you’re an idiot.  He was going to kill you - or she was.  You’re not sure which is worse.

You’re reaching for the fluffy white towel on the rack when you’re scared near half to death yet again.  This time, by your best friend who cuts an imposing figure in the doorway, broad form resting casually against the frame.  He looks surprisingly unbothered, curls pushed back from his forehead by a pair of sunglasses and arms folded over his chest.

“Jesus!”  The shriek comes four octaves higher than it normally would, pitching into the open so loudly you wince.  “You scared me!”

You can’t help the way you peek past his shoulder for a sign of the girl he’d brought home.

“Enjoying yourself?”  There’s something amused dancing in the darks of his eyes, his mouth curving around the same emotion as he steps into the bathroom.  You’d be bothered if he were anyone else, unnecessarily long legs carrying him to you in three strides.  

“I didn’t know you were home.”  You can’t quite meet his stare, still far too distracted by the mystery woman.  Had he left her on the couch?  Maybe his bedroom as he snuck you out?  What excuse could he come up with?

“Didn’t know you were home either.”  

He’s made himself comfortable right on the ledge of the tub, marked fingers dragging lazily through the still-scalding water.  He doesn’t seem terribly in a rush.  That puts you on edge.

Was he going to hide you in here? 

“I wanted to relax after my run.”  You don’t owe him an explanation - not really - but you offer it anyway.  You figure you need to, when you might’ve ruined his Sunday morning romp session.  You can’t bring yourself to address it, though.  The words just won’t come, sitting on the tip of your tongue like thorns.  It hurts to swallow. 

Jungkook doesn’t further the conversation - a first for him.  He’s normally a chatterbox.

The silence stretches on.  Suffocating.

You force yourself to speak, staring down at your hands that are slowly pruning beneath the water.  “Should I… go?”  The way it comes is feeble, soft, uncertain.  You hate it.

By the look of surprise on his face, he does, too.  He cackles suddenly, like a goddamn witch.  “Why?”

Heat floods across your cheeks.  You wish you could blame it on the bath or the steam that still collects on the mirrors.  It pulls high over your ears, colouring them tomato red and embarrassed.  Surely, he knows why.  

When he repeats himself, it’s harder, without any of the laughter from before.  

Rather than answer, you wave a hand through the air, fingers wiggling.  The universal sign for you know .  It should be enough - you hope it’s enough.  Your ego won’t let you verbalise it.  

“Suddenly mute, baby?”

It isn’t quite mocking - teasing, maybe - but it stokes the fire that burns in the pit of your stomach and licks uncomfortably at the organ in your chest.  You don’t even look at him as you nearly spit the words, petulant and far more bothered than you should be.  “You’ve got a girl here.”  

A laugh that isn’t quite a laugh comes, swathed in velvet and coloured blue.  The effort you make to not shoot him a glare is herculean.  

He’s still snickering when he speaks.  “You mean my sister?”

“Your sister?”  It’s more surprise at yourself that has you whipping to look at him, bewilderment tossing all other emotion out the window.  Because his sister was practically your sister.  How had you not recognised her voice?  You feel silly all at once, the embarrassment from earlier fading into reticence. 

“Yeah.  I spent the night babysitting the twins.”

You sometimes forget how much Jungkook loves children - especially his sisters’.  It’s hard to reconcile the family man he effortlessly transforms into when he spends most of his waking hours playing the perfect part of unaffected bachelor. 

“How are they?”  You ask because you care - you adore Minseo and Minhyuk - but also so you can move the conversation along.  The last thing you want to do is dwell on your mistake.

“They’re good.  Getting big.”  He’s got that smile on his face - the one that’s softer than any other, with deep lines at the corners of his eyes.  Reserved especially for the people he cares about most.  Your favourite sight.  “You can come with me next time.  Minnie asked about you, anyway.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest.

Being liked by peers?  Great.  Being respected by your superiors?  Rewarding.  But being loved by children?  It was in a league all its own - better than ice cream on a hot day.

“Sure.”  You can’t keep the grin away.

That is, until he speaks again, circling the conversation back.  “So, were you jealous?”  His ability to piss you off is uncanny.  It’s like it’s written into his genetic code, each molecule of his body tasked with ruining your day. 

“No.”  It’s meant to be a scoff.  It’s not very believable.

“You sure, princess?”  The fingers on your chin are wholly unnecessary - he’s got you caught in his stare, locked in place with nowhere to go.

“Yes, Bunny .”  You know how much he hates the nickname, only tolerating it because it’s you.  You can’t deny the pleasure that comes at the sight of his jaw tensing, muscle jumping in agitation.  Just as he’s your weakness, you’re his, too.  “Now let me finish—”

He cuts you off, sharp and unrelenting:  “Get out.”

“Excuse me?”  

“You heard me.  Get out of the tub or I’m pulling you out myself.”  Risen to his full height, he’s an imposing figure.  Even worse, there’s something you can’t read in his expression - something that has your nerves firing wildly.  Your heart rattles around in your chest, uncertain.  

He leaves you without another word.

You scramble out of the bath as quickly as your confused limbs allow you, knotting the towel beneath your arms.  You’re not quite sure what to do next, caught between pulling your clean clothes out of your workout bag and demanding an answer from your sphinx of a best friend.

What the hell was his problem? 

Your impatience wins out as you’re tugging a brush through your hair, fumbling uncharacteristically through knots until you’re too frustrated to continue.  You’re ready to tear into him when you storm out of the guestroom;  you’ve got a barrage of insults on your tongue, proverbial gun cocked and ready to unload.  

They melt away when you spy him on the couch, neatly wrapped bouquet laid across the coffee table.

“Come here.”  It’s not a request so much as a demand - commanding and soft all at once.  A small part of you wants to fire off a rebuttal;  that part dies when he repeats himself, louder this time. 

The seat you take beside him is begrudging, a good foot of space held between your bodies.  You fiddle with the hem of your towel, turning a loose thread over and over your index finger. 

“What?”  It’s snippy, discontent - kerosene on the fire that burns beneath Jungkook’s skin.

“Watch it,”  he retorts, though there’s no acid to his words.  Frankly, he sounds more frustrated than angry, more exasperated than pissed off.

That makes one of you.

Only he can bring out this side of you - brusque and biting.  “ You watch it, Bunny.”

Fingers find the bridge of his nose, a gesture you don’t see very often.  Guilt blooms behind your ribcage as he rubs at the tension between his eyes.  For someone who has it all, he looks like he’s a moment away from losing it. 

“You’re a brat, you know that?”  

“Takes one to know one,”  you retort, not unkindly.  

“You’re making this really hard,”  he snaps in the same instant he all but throws the overwhelming bunch of flowers at you.  

You nearly drop them you’re so surprised.

“What are these for?”

“You.”

“Me?”  

“Did I stutter?”

If you weren’t so busy studying the arrangement of florals, you’d have some witty comeback.  As it stands, you’re preoccupied by the pretty bunch of peonies and tulips.  You wonder what he’s done wrong - why he’s found it necessary to soften the blow with your favourite flowers. 

Your thoughts drift back to his sister’s words:  when are you going to tell her?

All at once, you want nothing more than to leave.  You don’t want whatever heartbreak is about to come.  You’re not ready for it.  

“Listen—”

He cuts you off, again.  “I love you.”

You’re not sure how your face looks.  You imagine you could look up flabbergasted in the dictionary and you’d find a photo of your expression right now.  “What?”

Jungkook won’t quite look at you, intently focused on an indiscernible point against the far wall.  When he speaks the words again, they’re full of uncertainty - but not in the way you expect.  The confession is as believable as any you’ve ever heard - he really does sound like he loves you - but somehow, it’s draped in dread and held aloft by hummingbird wings.  “I love you.”  

He’s nervous, you realise in amazement. 

“Come again?”  

He meets your stare then, brow knitting with unease.  He doesn’t say it again, though.

“Are you messing around with me?”  You don’t mean it how it comes - a little accusatory.

“I’m not an asshole.”  Except both of you know he certainly can be.  You don’t call him on it, though, opting instead to peer curiously at him, hands fisted around the bouquet in your lap.  “I talked to my sister.  She…”  He shrugs once, an almost helpless roll of his shoulders.  “She told me I was an idiot.”

You’re not surprised by that.  Lina had always been the one to give it to him straight.

“She said I would lose you if I didn’t get my shit together.”  There’s a bit of childish petulance that works its way into each syllable - he hates being told what to do.  “Said I needed to tell you or I’d regret it.  Which is stupid, because we’ve been best friends forever and she’s younger than me so what does she know—”  He must realise he’s rambling, something he never does.  “But—”

“But?”  Quiet, hopeful, coaxing. 

There’s a warmth in your chest - illuminating and golden and so bright it hurts to think about.  It grows with each moment that passes, spurred on by the look in his eyes and how they find yours.  

Hesitation pulls the silence a beat too long.  The light wanes.  You wonder if the moment has passed.  

And then he continues, a little more earnestly.  “Was she right?  Am I going to lose you?”

You’re not entirely sure what he’s asking.  You don’t think he even knows what he’s asking.  You try to answer anyway, as honest as you can without pinning your heart directly on your sleeve.  “You’ll never lose me.”

“You know what I mean.”  

Did you?  “You’ll never lose me.”  You’re the one repeating yourself this time, just that bit harder.  

“Then say it.”  Again, not a request.  A prayer, perhaps.  Ardent and needy - a world away from the Jeon Jungkook you know.

You don’t hesitate.  “I love you.”

He doesn’t either - upon you so quickly you don’t have time to blink or think.  

How he kisses you now feels different.  More .  It’s like being consumed entirely - changed from the inside out in ways you never thought possible.  Where he touches, sparks fly, filling you like stars in the night sky.  Lava rolls over every inch, dragging heat and want and need from the soles of your feet to the tip of your nose.  You’re gasping rather than breathing, clawing against the front of his shirt and twining your fingers into the strands that curl over his nape. 

“You never told me you could kiss like that.”  It’s lacking coherence, made by a partial inhale and wild, wondrous eyes.

His response is a laugh and another kiss, forceful and adoring and utterly devastating.  “Shut up,”  he mouths against your lips, tongue licking over your teeth and gums like he’s trying to memorise every inch of you.  Hands follow in the same amorous motions, tugging and pulling and aching for you closer;  the tips of his fingers sear white hot heat over your hips, the small of your waist, the delicate bones of your ribcage.

“I’m serious...”  You really are - far more than you should be.  You’d been missing out on this ?  It’s incomprehensible.

The sound he makes is more of a growl, playful and resounding in the cavern of his chest.  It rattles your own, sending your heart on a downward spiral into the pit of your stomach.  His nose traces the column of your throat, soft lips guiding him further until he’s mouthing hotly over the bare skin of your shoulder.  Tongue teases, delves ever so gently into the dip of your collarbone, and swipes back up, laving over the maroon that peeks around the edge of his teeth.  You can’t help but keen, holding him so closely you wonder if you’re suffocating him.

“So am I.”  Each syllable is punctuated by another nip, another nibble.  It seems like his goal is to bloom roses across your skin - a wreath to welcome him home, made by his own touch.

You don’t mind.  

“Say it again,”  he demands, hopeful and unashamed from his place against your neck.  

The admission comes easily, as if it’s always lived on the tip of your tongue.  “I love you.”  

“Again.”  You’re not ready for the way he stares at you - like he’s never done before.  Like he’s seeing you for the first time and he’s awestruck.  “Say it again.”

“I love you.”  Hands find the familiar contours of his face, thumbs brushing over the hollows of his eyes, over the beauty mark that sits front and centre beneath his lip.  Each graze follows a repetition of the confession, as if you might burn the three simple words beneath his skin - write it into his DNA like he’s written into yours.  “I love you.  I love you.  I love you, Bunny .”

He holds you close - so tightly it feels almost as if he’ll crush you - and captures your mouth again.  It’s more gentle but just as lovesick.  A thousand unspoken words spill from his tongue to yours, swallowed whole with greed you don’t bother to hide.

“I need you.”  It’s whiny, framed by a pout that could end wars and paired with doe eyes so wide and innocent you almost want to roll your own.  

“You have me.”

“Do I?”  There’s a very deliberate roll of his hips, denim of his jeans rough against the exposed softness of your inner thighs, hands manoeuvring over the partially covered swell of your hips.  The press of his fingers is purposeful, digging tension into every inch.  As if he might transfer some of the unadulterated need that thrums through his veins, turning his heart to jelly and brain to mush.

“Since when do you ask?”  You have a point.

“You’re right,”  his grin is almost lazy, drawing over his mouth in a measured crawl.  “Good girls just do what they’re told, right?”  His grips tightens almost imperceptibly, holding you to him almost effortlessly.  You’ve been in this position a hundred times before but it’s never been this easy - like breathing.

The gasp you offer is all mock affront, hand laid palm-down across your chest.  You don’t miss the way his gaze follows it before ticking lower, unabashed in its admiration.  “Are you saying I’m not?”

“Don’t know, baby.”  The war on your neck has resumed, teeth traded seamlessly for the softer promise of his tongue, the dry brush of his lips.  It’s almost sinful, garnering sighs of affection and need from somewhere low in your throat.  “Want to be a good girl for me?”

You’re not quite used to this version of him - playful and needy and not nearly as demanding as usual.  A part of you wants to draw out the side of him you know is there, hidden just beneath the surface;  the other wants to bask in this, all feather soft and cotton candy sweet.

“Always,”  you return, with a coquettish smile and fluttering lashes. 

“Always,”  he murmurs, tasting it for the first time.  He sounds almost giddy when he repeats it once, then twice, then a third time for good measure.  You think it’ll come again, laughter rolling off your tongue as you stare into the eyes of the boy you love.  Instead, he speaks in a voice full of gravel and grit, all traces of your sunshine boy suddenly swallowed whole by the darks of his pupils.  “Fuck - I can’t wait to have you.”

“Then what’re you waiting for?”  You don’t need to push him.  You like to do it anyway.  It feels right .

“You’re the worst.”  What Jungkook means is you’re the best and I love you and I’m going to fuck you six ways into next week .  What he means is this is the scariest thing he’s ever done but it’s all right because he has you.  What he means is thank you - and how he shows it is through worship.  

On the way to the bedroom, he crowds every inch of you, holding you so closely you wonder if he’s trying to carve himself into your bones.  He’s firm and unrelenting, balancing you against his chest as he smothers every available inch of your shoulders in sweet, sloppy kisses.  He revels in the way you cling to him like you’ve never needed anything else. 

In his bed, he lays you out and strips you bare.  He offers devotion with every pass of his fingers, every trail of his tongue.  He wants you so badly it’s hard to focus on giving you everything you deserve, but he tries anyway.  He sucks love into your neck and over your breasts, pinching your nipples between his fingers until you’re panting and he’s aching for the same treatment.  

On his knees, he prays at the altar of your body, taking his time to map the constellations on your skin, the memories written into each scar and dot.  His tongue follows the raised flesh that sits across your hip - an unfortunate mishap from a schoolyard dare.  You whine and he nearly cries, soothing over the sensitive spot with hands and lips and tenderness.  He lays kisses on each freckle, each irregular mark.  From your navel to your knee and everywhere in between, he caresses and comforts, turning those blemishes into stars.  

He also teases - subtly, quietly, with wandering hands and focused breaths.  You don’t realise it until it’s too late, your insides molten, your pulse a thunderclap in your ears.  

“Jungkook.”  It sounds more like begging than anything.  Exactly what he wants.

“What’s up, princess?”  Spoken so casually, as if he isn’t between your legs, long fingers tracing through the slick that coats your thighs.  He gazes up from behind too long strands, all wide-eyed and terribly sweet - until he pops a digit into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks around the taste of you.  “Something wrong?”

“Stop teasing.”  You hear yourself whine but it doesn’t quite sound like you, higher pitched and needier than you’ve ever been.  

“I thought you were going to be good for me,”  he returns with a tut and a push of that same finger deep into your cunt.  He flexes it experimentally, beaming up at you when you clench around the intrusion that’s too much and not even close to being enough all at once.  “You’re so wet, baby.  I just slide right in.”  

As if to drive his point home, he drives another finger in, scissoring them languidly to stretch you open.  It’s such a pretty sight, messy and inviting.  He can’t resist a taste, dragging the flat of his tongue over and around the fingers that continue to fuck into you at a faster pace.   

“ Jungkook! ”  You’re shrieking, bucking against the onslaught of sensations.  A shapely arm immediately cages you against the bed, palm splayed across your hips.  

“Stay still.”  It’s a growl, teeth bared against the sensitive pearl between your legs.  Words are punctuated with the softest pressure - a silent threat that goes no further.  You wonder what he’ll do if he has to repeat himself.  “Good girls listen, remember?”

You’re fumbling across his shoulders, nails digging crescents everywhere you can reach.  You need him so badly it hurts .  “Please.”  

“Please what?”  That patented, stupid smirk cradles his mouth, tongue peeking out as he stares at you expectantly.  “If you’re going to be so demanding, at least use your words.”  He watches the way your eyes roll back into your head when he slots another finger in with the others and curls them against that particular spot that has you seeing stars.  The bastard has the audacity to coo at you.  “What’s wrong, baby?  Can’t speak?”

You’re near wailing, gasping and whining around words that sound like his name.  Angry red lines sprout across his shoulders, his arms - demands carved into flesh. 

He makes a sound, wistful and resigned.  You think - try to think, beyond the pleasure that’s building steadily in the pit of your stomach - that he’s finally going to give you what you need.  You’re almost crying for it, moisture crowding your lashes and threatening to spill over.

Then he withdraws, all at once.

You could scream.  In fact, you do, red in the face and chest heaving.  “I hate you!”  

“No.”  He’s upon you in an instant, insistent and terribly smug.  There’s a playground in his smile, childish laughter spilling into the spaces between you.  “You actually love me.”  He noses at your neck, the heat of his palm searing against your side as he sighs almost dreamily.  “Say it again.”

You answer him with something more than love - frustration and annoyance and so much devotion you can’t keep it out no matter how hard you try.  “No.”

It’s a challenge more than anything.  He knows it;  you know it.

He accepts it readily, just as you expect him to.  

“Say it.”  Enamel presses steady, heavy, into the sensitive spot right beneath your ear.  He mouths over the skin that blows out red and inviting beneath his ministrations, the firm press of his fingers gripping you without hesitation.  You can feel the entire weight of him against you, length nestled comfortably against your core.  He repeats himself as he rocks against you, dragging the swollen, leaking head of his cock through your folds with an agonising slowness that has you clenching around nothing.  “Come on, baby.”

You’re keening, adjusting your hips and grinding against him.  You still won’t say it, hoping to find a rhythm in the quiet that’s punctuated by your laboured breaths and his occasional laughter.

“Just say it and I’ll give you what you want.  I’ll give you everything.  Promise, sweetheart.”  

Framed against the late morning sun, hair spilling across his forehead in curls of india ink, he’s so handsome your heart leaps into your throat.  “I love you.”  It’s a wet confession, carried by a wave of emotion you don’t expect.

“I love you,”  he echoes, sinking into you so gradually you feel like you’re caught in slow motion, all of your focus balanced on the tip of a needle.  

It’s never been like this before.  Each inch is a delicious stretch, filling you and claiming you.  The drag is incredible, your walls fluttering around the intrusion and aching for more.  You bite back a sob, digging into the wide expanse of his back with your nails as your mouth seeks purchase anywhere it can - over his jaw, up his neck, across his shoulders.  He soothes you as he presses deeper, reassurances whispered against your temple.  

“I’ve got you, baby.  Let me make you feel good.”  When he bottoms out, you demand more - somehow, somehow - locking your ankles against the small of his waist. He doesn’t miss the way you clench, so tight around him it almost hurts , when he says those three words once again.  “I love you.”

His lips find yours and he brushes them over and over - a salve for the burn he ignites beneath your skin.  It doesn’t matter that he’s both the calm and the chaos.  Jungkook’s always been everything to you.

The rhythm he sets is unhurried and perfect.  Each snap of his hips has his cock dragging against your walls, filling and stretching you so well;  everywhere his skin brushes yours, you’re alive.  There are a million nerve endings going haywire beneath your skin, flashing bright as holiday lights.  

That’s what it’s like - Christmas morning .  Picture perfect and filled with wonder.

He’s completely smitten when he draws back just enough to see the entirety of you - your fucked-out expression, the rose-wreath he’s wrought around your neck, the sweat that beads between your tits and tempts him to duck his head.  “I love you.”  It’s almost hypnotising - watching you take him, pussy dripping and needy around his cock. 

“I love you,”  you parrot back - or try to.  It’s not very coherent, driven to a point of nonsense when his hips begin to stutter and he makes up for the loss of rhythm by slipping his fingers over your clit in circle eights.  

You’re at your breaking point.  He knows - can read you like the back of his hand - and holds you there, back bowing to kiss you breathless, pressure unrelenting against the bundle of nerves.  

“That’s it, princess.  Right there.”   

The coil snaps at the third pass and there are hot tears streaming down your cheeks, his name spilling off your tongue in tandem with the erratic thudding of your heart.  White spots your vision, entire body electrified as you crash headlong into an abyss of bliss.  You hear him join you with a hoarse whine, a mix of your cum slipping out of you as he rides out his own high with shallow thrusts, mouth open and panting against your shoulder.  

The comedown is hazy, dusted in exhaustion and a thin sheen of sweat.  When he slips from you, he doesn’t go far, tugging you comfortably against his side like you’re not both a little gross.  It’s not the first time you’ve fucked but it feels different.  

“I love you, baby.”  

“I love you, Bunny.”

You realise - it feels exactly like that.  Making love.

[ibijau]

Suyao’s happy evil life in Japan, because I think they deserve that / also on AO3

warning for jgy having some very condescending views about Japan and its culture

The damn house wasn’t even haunted, Jin Guangyao thought as he performed the ritual. It had been abandoned for a few years, certainly, and it had a certain creepiness still clinging to its walls as a result, but that was nothing that a good deep cleaning and more recent furniture couldn’t solve. 

Not that Jin Guangyao would say as much. If the tradition in Japan dictated that abandoned houses had to be cleansed before they could be used, he’d do just that. Business was business, and it wasn’t impossible that a pre-emptive ritual ensured no future ghosts would appear there. And even if one did, he’d come up with something, blame it on the family, on some fault in the landscape. It wouldn’t even be a lie. This house’s fengshui was a complete disaster… but he wasn’t being paid for that, and he didn’t particularly like this lord. The man had made disparaging comments against Su Minshan more than once, and Jin Guangyao had made note of that.

He wasn’t about to do Awata no Seimei any favours. In fact, Su Minshan and him had already agreed that they’d make the man pay more for the exorcism, even though they didn’t particularly need the extra money, not the way they’d done their first year. But then, in that first year, they wouldn’t have dared to aggravate someone as high ranking as Awata no Seimei, supposing they could even have gotten such a patron in the first place.

It had been hard, that first year, but neither of them were the sort to give up just because things weren’t easy. Besides, they’d had to survive, if only to spite the enemies they’d left behind.

Inflamed at the memory of that shameful flight, Jin Guangyao stomped a little harder than strictly necessary, which appeared to catch the attention of his spectators. Good. Let Awata no Seimei think he was working hard to purify that house he’d bought, it would justify the higher price.

It was mid-morning when Jin Guangyao decided he’d put on enough of a show and could announce that the house was now safe for ordinary humans. As soon as he stopped the ritual, Su Minshan rushed to his side, offering some cool tea, one of the local types that Jin Guangyao had become so fond of. As he drank, Jin Guangyao realised he was parched. It was still early enough in the day, but the heat was rising fast. It would soon be unbearably hot and damp, making Jin Guangyao regret that he’d wasted so long on this empty ritual.

“Master Kin Kouyou, what a splendid ceremony,” Awata no Seimei said in a too deferential tone that Jin Guangyao despised for reminding him of his own. “You have my thanks for your help, I could not have asked anyone else. Truly, there is no one else who would do as well as master Kin Kouyou.”

Jin Guangyao shot him a cold look. Before he could try guessing what Awata no Seimei might want from him next, Su Minshan came to stand between them, arms crossed on his chest, towering over the nobleman.

“Zongzhu just conducted this ritual for your house,” Su Minshan barked. “Please understand how draining this is, the house had been left untouched for many years, and there were traces of a fox spirit in there.”

Well, there were fox droppings in one of the bedrooms, Jin Guangyao thought, biting his cheeks not to grin. He couldn’t laugh in public, not when he was supposed to be exhausted from his great fight against evil, but the look of horror on that noble lord’s face at the mention of a fox demon was priceless.

“Of course I am grateful to master Kin Kouyou,” Awata no Seimei said. “I will make no further requests today. Then, regarding the master’s dues...”

“Don’t bother Zongzhu with that either,” Su Minshan snapped. “Come see me tomorrow, and I will deal with the payment. Zongzhu isn’t to be disturbed with such trivial matters. Zongzhu needs to retire now, unless you have any real reason to keep him here.”

Awata no Seimei didn’t. Between Jin Guangyao’s growing reputation now that the emperor himself had hired him and Su Minshan’s attitude, those nobles knew to keep conversations short. It had worried Jin Guangyao, at first, the way Su Minshan couldn’t bother being polite to these people, but in the end this played to their advantage. People expected foreigners to be a little odd, and the locals seemed to enjoy knowing that however talented those two Chinese cultivators were in magic arts, at least they had better manners.

Having finished their business with this old house, Jin Guangyao and Su Minshan headed back home. Awata no Seimei, quite generously, offered them the use of a pair of kago, which struck Jin Guangyao as rather suspicious. The man definitely had to have another service to ask of them, and probably one they wouldn’t enjoy performing. An onmyouji he’d become friendly with had warned him that some of those important people could become overdependent on divination and rituals, and Awata no Seimei seemed just like the sort who would ask the heavens what he should have for breakfast.

It sounded very annoying, Jin Guangyao thought as he stepped onto the travelling chair, but until Awata no Seimei actually started making requests, he wasn’t above taking advantage of the man’s generosity. The less he had to walk in this heavy, wet heat, the better. And he could tell that Su Minshan was getting uncomfortable, scratching his chest often. Summers were hard on him here, especially with his condition.

Eager to distract the other man from his discomfort, Jin Guangyao started chatting with him while their kago were carried along the streets of Heijou-Kyou, asking what else they had on their schedule for that day.

“Music lessons for the disciples this afternoon,” Su Minshan said, hands clenched over his knees in a futile effort to resist the itchiness. “Aside from that, nothing much.”

Jin Guangyao hummed, letting his gaze rest on the scenery. He’d been told that the city had been modelled after Chang’an, and many people had asked him if it looked as good as the original. Having never visited the capital at home, he always had to invent some polite lie about Heijou-Kyou having its own grandeur, but privately he wasn’t impressed. The original was always better than a copy, except in one specific case… and that case was sitting on a kago next to his own, suffering because of this country's climate.

“Minshan, take the rest of the day off,” Jin Guangyao said after a little while. “I’ll deal with the music lesson, you should have a fresh bath and rest. You’re really feeling bad today, aren’t you?”

Su Minshan looked away in shame, but nodded shortly. If it had been possible, Jin Guangyao would have reached out for him and taken his hand to comfort him.

“I’m fine,” Su Minshan said. “There’s no need to trouble yourself, I can take care of the disciples.”

“And I’d rather you take care of yourself,” Jin Guangyao countered. “I like teaching them, anyway. They’re good children.”

About half the disciples they’d recruited for their new sect were sons of minor nobility, because that paid, and because it never hurt to have connections. But a few were youth of genuine potential, who had in them the making of true cultivators, if they applied themselves.

The noble boys only came to study some of the days, and were sent back to their parents after lessons. The true disciples lived in their house, so they could be taught proper cultivation without inducing jealousy in those spoiled little princes who would never even come close to forming a golden core. Two of those boys Jin Guangyao had straight up bought from their family, something he couldn’t decide how to feel about. But they’d have been wasted as peasants, and they were grateful to their masters, and…

And Jin Guangyao wondered sometimes if this was what it had felt like for Nie Mingjue, picking the lowest person he could see and bringing him higher than others. Knowing you could change someone’s life was a potent drug, and it made Jin Guangyao want to fight to maintain their current position, so he could keep doing it. He’d been on the receiving end of pity for so long, he quite enjoyed being the one who could bestow it upon others at last.

“Do take the afternoon off,” Jin Guangyao insisted. “And I’ll send Haruto to buy some refreshing treats. He’ll be so happy to be of service to you, don’t refuse him that pleasure.”

“But…”

“Don’t refuse me the pleasure of spoiling you, either,” Jin Guangyao said, and with that Su Minshan could only nod meekly, defeated. 

They reached home soon after. A light lunch was served to them, after which Jin Guangyao ordered that a bath be prepared for Su Minshan. Haruto and Minato, the two peasant boys, acquitted themselves of that task before going to prepare for their afternoon class. Jin Guangyao too went to prepare, but only after making sure that Su Minshan had everything he needed, and that the room they shared wasn’t too unbearably hot. Mostly, he enjoyed having someone to fuss over, something Su Minshan always resisted a little out of some fear he’d be relying too much on Jin Guangyao and become a burden.

A ridiculous notion. Out of everyone Jin Guangyao had ever allowed close to him, Su Minshan was the only one whose company had never once felt like a weight on his shoulder. Right from the start they had been equals, their temperament matching, as well as their hunger from more than the world was willing to give them. Jin Guangyao's few loved ones had all held him back, Qin Su with her unfortunate parentage, Lan Xichen with his principles, Jin Ling with the threat he represented... but Su Minshan had always been the perfect person to stand at Jin Guangyao’s side, and now they could do so openly.

The afternoon lesson passed quickly. Due to the humid heat, the boys were a little less attentive than usual, but then again so was Jin Guangyao. He was only too happy to free the boys for the day. Jin Guangyao only took a moment to send Haruto, his favourite student, on a few errands, while he went to do some accounting. 

He’d been carefully managing their finances since they’d arrived in this country, and finally things were looking up. Jin Guangyao hoped that in a year or two they might buy a small house in the mountains, where he was told summers were fresher. Hopefully, he might get parts of the expense dumped onto some idiot prince or other, in exchange for teaching one of their dull witted sons. Back at home it wouldn’t have worked, because people understood money couldn’t buy cultivation, but here… here, any idiot with gold to waste thought they would learn magic.

It was fine to scam these people, Jin Guangyao told himself. Taking advantage of powerful men was nothing at all like those people who had sold his mother fake cultivation manuals. He wasn’t hurting anyone. Or at least, no one that particularly mattered.

When Haruto returned, Jin Guangyao took it as a sign he’d worked enough for the day. He thanks the boy for his effort, and gave him a few of the just purchased treats to share with the other disciples. The rest he took with him as he went to the room he shared with Su Minshan. As always he knocked on the wall to announce his presence, using a certain code between them so Su Minshan would know he didn’t need to cover himself.

When he came in, Su Minshan was sprawled inelegantly on a futon, and desperately fanning himself, his ruined chest glistening with sweat. He looked so miserable like this, though his face lit up when Jin Guangyao put down a box on their low table, and opened it to reveal some fresh shaved ice.

“I could kiss you,” Su Minshan said, all but crawling to the table.

“I hope you will,” Jin Guangyao retorted, picking some of the shaved ice with a spoon so he could feed it to the other man. “I also have some cold noodles, and some rice wine.”

“You are a god among men.”

Jin Guangyao laughed, and started chatting about their students, the ones in which they placed true hope, the ones who were there only for their parents’ fortune. Su Minshan was delighted to hear they might be able to buy a secondary house. With his thousand holes curse, heat and humidity were particularly hard on him, sweat and friction chafing his skin nearly to the point of bleeding sometimes. They really needed that house in the mountain, Jin Guangyao decided. He'd start looking very soon, and maybe drop a word to one of his richer patrons to ask for advice on such a purchase.

For now though, the two men enjoyed their shaved ice, then moved on to some delicious cold noodles. The local food was different from the one back home, but it was something they'd both taken to rather well, unlike that blasted climate. Then, after eating, they started drinking their wine, and the two men found themselves chatting about the place they would always call home, even if they should live in Japan for a thousand years.

“I wonder how A-Ling is doing,” Jin Guangyao mused, staring into his cup of wine. “Poor boy, he must have run the sect to the grounds by now, unless someone more competent got rid of him.”

“Maybe your enemy killed him,” Su Minshan retorted. “If they couldn’t get you, at least they’d get your next of kin.”

Jin Guangyao grimaced. “Probably. After all, they got Qin Su and that little idiot Mo Xuanyu, why not Jin Ling as well? Unless…”

“Unless?”

Jin Guangyao hummed thoughtfully. “I’m still wondering who it could have been,” he said. “I had my enemies of course, but there aren’t many who could have been bold enough to come after me like that. They all hated me of course,” he added with a joyless laugh. “But hate is not enough to go after a man who will slaughter your sect if you stand in his way. It takes a certain type of man to stand up to someone like me.”

“Could have been Lan Wangji,” Su Minshan predictably suggested. “Righteous prick, he didn’t particularly like Nie Mingjue, but he’d avenge him just to feel morally superior.”

“The fact that his lover was brought back certainly is suspicious,” Jin Guangyao conceded, sipping some wine. “And he never particularly liked me, either. To be fair, I don’t think he likes anyone, except that murderer. Still, I’m not sure he would have let Mo Xuanyu kill himself, he does have principles. No, I have another theory.”

“I’m listening.”

Jin Guangyao smiled, and poured more alcohol for both of them, letting the liquid flow as slowly as possible, allowing the suspense to rise a little before he dropped his bomb.

“Jiang Cheng,” he then said.

Su Minshan blinked a few times, frowned, then severely nodded, glaring at his cup of wine.

“It would make sense. Good way to make sure you don’t get rid of his idiotic nephew.”

“Our idiotic nephew,” Jin Guangyao corrected, who had put too much effort into becoming a Jin to disown his last direct relative, even if the boy really took more after his other uncle. “And everyone knows he’s obsessed with finding Wei Wuxian, right? I wouldn’t put it past him to just take things in his own hands and bring back the man who killed his sister, just for a chance to kill him himself, once he was sure no one stood in the way of A-Ling’s inheritance. Too bad he didn’t count on Lan Wangji. Ah, I almost wish I could go back and check on conferences now, it must be quite the show.”

The thought of Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng, who had always hated each other, forced to act half polite even though they both wanted to lock down Wei Wuxian and keep him to themselves… it might have been the wine, but Jin Guangyao couldn’t help chuckling a little. He was so glad that he didn’t have to deal with that sort of mess. For this alone, he was almost grateful to his mysterious enemy.

It was an odd feeling, actually, but Jin Guangyao had come to enjoy his life here, in this foreign land. It wasn’t as good as home, nothing compared to the near absolute power he’d held back then, but… but his eyes fell on Su Minshan, naked from the waist up, looking in a rare good mood, and he smiled. There was definitely something to be said for this simpler life they had here. There was so much less scheming to be done, fewer enemies to deal with, and Jin Guangyao was finally free from the looming menace of Nie Mingjue’s resentful head hidden in his secret room.

Life here really wasn’t so bad.

“You know who it could have been?” Su Minshan asked, grinning like a fool, his cheeks flushed from the heat and the wine. 

“Who?”

Su Minshan beamed, the way he usually did when sharing a nasty story about the darker secrets of Gusu Lan.

“Think about it. Someone who would have wanted to avenge Nie Mingjue. Someone who might have been able to wander around in other sects without attracting attention to collect information, because nobody cares what he does. Someone who Mo Xuanyu might have met before, who was there when Wei Wuxian came to Jinlin Tai to accuse you…”

Jin Guangyao, who had expected his lover to blame Lan Xichen, burst out laughing.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink, Minshan. Really? You’re accusing Nie Huaisang now?” Just saying it out loud, Jin Guangyao laughed louder. Nie Huaisang had never had a single idea of his own in his entire life, and didn’t even get along with his brother when he’d been alive. Su Minshan might as well have blamed a very stupid dog. “That poor boy, I bet he would have taken my defence to the end. I almost miss him, you know.”

“No you don’t,” Su Minshan retorted, which made Jin Guangyao laugh again.

“I do! Ah, Minshan, let’s get a cat and call it Huaisang.”

Su Minshan scoffed, and reached out for the wine, only to find they had already finished it. It was probably for the best, if they were so drunk that they could consider the possibility of Nie Huaisang being their secret enemy.

“It’d have to be a fat cat then,” Su Minshan grumbled, stretching in a way that called attention to his chest. It was funny, Jin Guangyao thought sometimes, how he should have been disgusted by the effects of the Thousand Holes curse, but wasn’t at all. “ And one too lazy to even run after mice, or do anything but sleep in the sun, or else the name won’t fit.”

“Minshan, you’re so mean,” Jin Guangyao fondly said, taking the other man’s hand and pulling on it, wanting to go to bed now and enjoy some more this very mean-spirited man he was lucky enough to share his new life with. “Please, never change.”

[zumpietoo]

The Edgar Stupid Continued...

(I wanted to get the first part in, cause sometimes my trackpad slides and blows out everything)....buuttt

She’s in love with him. The End.

He isn’t remotely acting OOC. He IS acting the way he acts when he’s stuck on somebody (as we saw with Slizzy, which is what’s pissing you off). He wasn’t wary (and had already expressed his repeated interest in her, something you Slizzstans keep choosing to ignore)---he WAS at his true, lowest bottom....and, honestly, he needed somebody who actually cared about him. And was almost afraid to say, “do you really care about me/think I’m actually worthy of anything?”. It was also an interesting contrast to him realicing nobody DID care about him previously and now somebody did....

He was then 15, he’s, again, expressed his interest in her repeatedly, They were ready.

Okaaayyy.....so while you previously (in the same post!) were dragging him for his lack of responsible behavior and employment, now, when he’s just gotten a new job, that will lead to gainful, full time employment, doing something he loves and is good at, it’s a “weird choice”?

Everybody else in town was chasing after Hymen....he was busy being a grown up, not pissing off Nosferatubie and taking care of his lady during a time of need. He was hired to restart the Blue and Gold and why TF is such an issue that he renamed it, given that the entirety here was about A) first amendment/responsible journalism and B) new starts to things?

This entire season has been about him coming to terms with his trauma, getting over Slizzy and her betrayal and moving forward with his life. Why are you so disgusting that not only do you not see this, you disparage it?

“I fear” that he’ll be with somebody who IS supportive of him? Yes, I can buy you DO “fear” that, disgusting as that is....I do love the smugness here, actually, his slip was pretty normal. And Tabitha helped with that, too!

Also, dude, if he’s in AA, he has sponsor----however, that won’t be the focus of this shit anymore (I hope, cause AA is crap, anyway) and your 12 step worship is also gross (and outs your bourgeois ignorance, fully)

Errmm.....actually, just the opposite (plus, again, the show is NOT about AA)---early on, IRL, you ARE on what’s known as a “pink cloud”---you get lots of attention. etc---cause AA is a cult. However, this is NOT reflected here (like him doing his ninth of 12 steps already and slipping shows how far off it is. AA is a plot device).

Jug wanting a fresh start from years of addiction, trauma and betrayal is hardly a bad thing, dude.

He IS over Slizzy, that was the entire point.....he hallucinating that, 2 or 5 years ago because rats were eating his face and it was how he survived. We also saw him acknowledge she was never there AND how much it hurt him that nobody was and nobody GAF.

He isn’t remotely trying to be “perfect” or change himself for Tabi---nor does she want that (other than sobriety for him).....ironically, the one who was always trying to change him and make him moar conformist to her bourgeois fantasies was Slizzy.....(and would then get mad/jealous when he surpassed her).

It’s called moving forward with your life, while keeping stuff you do enjoy and isn’t toxic....wow, what a dick Jughead is....Duuuuudddeee.....it’s a teevee show. Soooo....nooppppeee. You aren’t concerned, you’re pissed off.

Oh sweet jeeabus!!! It’s a TeeVee show, moron! And, again, you’re just pissed off that Jughead’s been able to move on with somebody great and isn’t Slizzy’s doormat. Also, dude, again, AA’s a fucking cult, which is why they seek to control your social life.

OML!!! You are sooooo full of shit. Also, again, PRETEND.....and trouble is, BH’s honeymoon ended a loonnggg time ago and you can’t accept it. Plus the one who suggested moving in together was Tabitha.....

Ummmm......nooo....while he DOES suffer, wildly, from imposter syndrome, nothing says he can’t still write (we even saw him doing so).....he just will struggle to find an agent, but he can also always self publish (I thought all you shitty fic writers were always insisting your blather WAS “real writing”????).

Plus, actually, it’s called “full circle”. This is where his writing started, no? So now (cause this show is always soooperrr obvious) he’ll be an investigative journalist (and teaching, which he clearly enjoys and is good at).

Oh and the whole blackballing thing was the real reason he was so upset at the end of 5x16.

And the “something he’s trying to hold onto” is him getting his life back together, you asshole. And “identity crisis”???? My GOD!!! You’re an overdramatic jackass, huh???

Dude, that’s what he’s been thru, he hit bottom, this is him putting everything back together.

He hasn’t taken on, remotely, a “facade” you merely wish he had. I have no idea how any of this remotely “derails” Tabi’s goals and vision-----and the fire wasn’t his fault. He’ll be her supportive BH, it’ll be rebuilt. Jug won’t work there anymore, but will be around and help out. Plus she now has her grandpa to help.

And noooopeee......also, unlike you, Tabi isn’t remotely that snide and shallow, also I doubt she’ll GAF....

I guess you’ll be wrong, huh?

[pippindot]

Ready 2 go!

We had a good class today. I'm still a little impatient about how much time we spend not working the dogs. We walked a Masters course for 40 minutes. I appreciate seeing these things and these setups but that's a lot of lecture for an hour class 😭 And none of us are even competing in Novice yet, let alone Masters.

First exercise was a post turn. Everyone made it look easy except us, because Pip launched into the stratosphere and went way out. I think we may have been the only pair to do that more than once.

Next we worked the serpentine. Started with just the first two jumps, sending her over and bringing her back while I stayed on the original side. Then tried it with a side change/front cross after the first jump, and a sending her over/bringing her back over the second and third. She was BRILLIANT we hit it every time. And I was proud of myself for doing the cross quickly enough that I didn't get in her way, and then hauled ass to support the next two jumps properly. I wish I would have remembered to ask someone to film 🥲 We did the full thing twice and she looked gorgeous doing it.

Ended with some lecture on 2o2o foundations. We have been doing it one way but I like the way she wants us to do it instead. It looks a lot like how we taught the Back Up trick, and I think it will result in a more solid end behavior. We did get to do a sort of litmus test on the A frame for where we are, and Pip did an awesome job sticking her 2o2o even though we haven't practiced that in literal months. Very proud of her! I heard our instructor talking to someone about how we had learned it not being great because the handler is part of the picture still. Might be true in some contexts, but Pip has stuck 2o2o without me being right next to her lots of time so I felt that was a little unfair after only seeing us do it once, and requiring us to do it from loading on one side. I didn't get to send her over so she could do it independently...which she can. ANYWAY I'M A LITTLE SALTY. Still like the new way though. Just don't need to disparage my current skills to get there HMPH.

Our engagement continues to be a little hit or miss. I got in trouble for letting her off leash at the edge of the course and then calling her to me. Usually I do that because it's a chance for her to zoom and since she has limited uncrated time, the ground coverage between the edge and the obstacle setup is good for that and she finds running rewarding. Alas, she wants to waste time finding lost goodies in the sand instead so we lost our privileges :(

I tried to do a bit more start line engagement after watching other students do little tricks as part of their setup. That seems like a good way, so we did Between and a little walking to the first jump. It worked the first time but I didn't do it at our subsequent setups...maybe I should have. I'm having a hard time keeping her focus, when that has never been a problem before. Could be her cycle, could be some stress, could be there is just delicious stuff in the sand. She is looking like a very stereotypical sighthound out there though and no one believes me when I say she has great engagement most of the time 🥲 Oh well. When we are running she is great.

I took a chance at the end of class and asked if we could try a short sequence that we had walked earlier because it looked SO FUN. And we walked that whole fucking course and then didn't do much of it at all. And my instructor said yes! It was essentially a wrap around one jump, 3 jumps, then a far side tunnel entry, then 2 jumps back. I thought it looked straightforward and starting with the wrap seemed so fun. Again, I wish we could have filmed.

First time, Pip didn't wrap and just went zooming off the course. Woops. Second time, she remembered what wrap meant and did great, but I crossed after the second jump and didn't have enough time so it wasn't as smooth as it could have been. Instructor had me put a front cross basically as Pip was wrapping that first jump so I could have my side change all set up for the next three. That worked great, we nailed the off side tunnel entry the first time. The return jumps after the tunnel were just a hilarious disaster, she was blasting off and we missed a bunch but she was having lots of fun. And at least I know she isn't afraid to take obstacles independently! I think a big part of it was I wasn't cueing fast enough/at all, because when I managed to add a Get or Go in, she would take them! We probably need work for her to take jumps by body language implications alone when they're fast grids like that. But part of me is also proud that she is listening hard and trying to do precisely what I'm asking, if I would only ask.

We did a few reps, the first part up to the tunnel was consistent. The rest was an enthusiastic mess. But that's okay. Instructor told the remaining student that when your dog is missing jumps or whatever, you know you need to set a goal. And maybe our goal would just be that Pip is having fun. Typing it out doesn't seem that bad, but I was offended in the moment, that maybe we were too all over the place to even set a goal? Idk. I always keep Pip having fun at the forefront of our experience. I am always happy with her and laughing and reinforcing even if it went sideways. I have never gotten frustrated with her on the field during or after a run (just when we first go out and she is treat mining...lol). So whatever!!! She probably didn't mean it the way I took it. At least we got some bonus exercise. She was finally sleepy after class when we got home.

She also has become an angel in her crate now that she knows what's up. Goes in no problem and won't come out til her leash is on. Whined maybe twice lol. Proud of her getting the idea.

Fun run on Saturday. Hope it doesn't turn into a scene.

[adie-dee]

Lies in the Lilies

During my hiatus I've been working on rearranging a number of chapters at the start of my WIP, which has led to me adding some brand new content!

The following excerpt gives a good glimpse into Bethany's relationship with her Mum. The start may be familiar, but everything after the cut is new.

“Beth, honey, when are you coming home?” Mum asked as soon as she had the receiver. The stress in her voice was palpable, and my guilt came back with a vengeance. “I can arrange transport from wherever you are, you just need to give me an address.”

“I’m not coming home,” I insisted. “Not while I still have time to stop this.”

Mum huffed. “We have the best people looking into this curse, and they are struggling to find a way to prevent it, but it will be impossible for them to do so if you aren’t even here. Come back to us before it’s too late.”

I rolled my eyes. This had become our main topic of conversation every time we’d spoken recently, and it always ended the same way: Mum angry, and me hanging up in tears.

“So what, you’re saying I should just give up? Roll over and die?”

“Bethany Grace, that is not funny!”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny!”

Mum sighed. “I know this is scary, darling, but please, come home. We have a much better chance of finding answers and keeping you safe than you’re capable of doing on your own. Your father has even had a safe room built so we can protect you.”

“I have found a lot of stuff on my own though,” I insisted, even though I knew it wouldn’t change her mind. My research was never good enough for her.

“You’ve found hearsay and rumours, Beth. Nothing concre—”

“Did Zia curse me?”

Mum went quiet.

“She did, didn’t she,” I prompted, taking Mum’s silence as an answer. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We didn’t want to cause you any undue fear.”

I closed my eyes and exhaled, wishing I had a drink on hand to settle my nerves. “That might have been the case when I was a kid,” I told her once I opened my eyes, “but I’m twenty-four now. I deserve to know.”

“You are cursed, Beth. Knowing who did it changes nothing.”

“But you told me the easiest way to break a curse was to get the person who originally placed the curse to remove it! And--”

“Zia has not been seen since the day you were cursed,” Mum stated, her voice raised and full of frustration. “Believe me, we have thoroughly investigated that option of freeing you, and all our research points to the likelihood that she is dead.” She sighed. “I saw no point in telling you this as I do not like delivering negative news. You need hope, darling, not an update on another failed lead.”

I stared at the paper in my hand. “What if she isn’t dead?”

‘Then she has likely fled the country. We are not the only family she has targeted.”

“Yeah, but--” I took a deep breath, unsure how Mum was going to respond. With disbelief, no doubt. “What if I know where she is?”

To stop Mum disparaging what I was saying I continued on, barely taking a breath while I detailed my session with Raine.

“It was likely a cold reading,” Mum said when I was done. “Psychics are unscrupulous beings, and are easily able to sniff out desperation. It is likely the address is an offer of false hope, nothing more.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, an action I’d seen Mum do regularly back when our arguments were conducted in person. She’d said it helped reduce a headache, something which I’d never experienced, but somehow doing it now did make my brain feel a little bit better. “It’s not false hope. It’s not. I’m not even the one who mentioned Zia - Raine did!”

“Who?”

“The psychic,” I stated, wincing internally. Psychics named Raine weren’t common, and that was information Mum could use if she chose to hunt me down. “She brought her up, and she even described the day I was cursed - right down to the orange juice stain on your rug!”

“The one you tried to blame on Zia,” Mum reminded me, “because you were not meant to be in the drawing room, let alone drinking in there.” She chuckled, making me glad she was finally able to see the funny side. Even being cursed hadn’t stopped me getting in trouble over that. “Though it was Zia’s potion which ruined the rug, not your beverage. And I was disappointed to see that rug destroyed; it was an antique which belonged to my mother.”

If I didn’t know better, it sounded like she cared more for the rug than me. “I can tell Zia that, if you like.”

It was the wrong thing to say. “You are not seeing her,” Mum hissed. “I forbid it.”

“Raine said I would, though!” I insisted, ignoring a car horn as I crossed the road. “And anyway, it’s not like she can hurt me! Not until my birthday.”

Mum clicked her tongue. “And what would stop her from just removing your curse so she can kill you sooner?” she asked. “That would be easy for her.”

My tentative good mood immediately deflated.

“I know you are invulnerable for now,” Mum continued, “but you need to consider the consequences of your actions. She is dangerous, Beth.”

“Then what do I do?” I whined, stopping out the front of my building.

“Nothing. Your father and I will handle this.”

“But--”

“Beth…” the warning in Mum’s voice was hard to ignore. “She is a powerful mage, whereas you are not a mage at all. Visiting is far too risky.”

“But she cursed you too!”

“Yes, through subterfuge and surprise. She will not be able to do so again. Now promise me you will respect my wishes for once, and leave her to me.”

I stared down at my feet, not wanting to answer. Telling her any of this had been a bad idea.

“Bethany, an answer please.”

“Alright,” I muttered. She was probably right, after all, and I should have at least been happy she was taking me seriously for a change.

“Thank you, Beth, this is the right decision. Please text me the address so I can prepare. I will call you when I have seen her.”

A dial tone followed.

I bit back my desire to cry and dutifully typed out the address.