#but you still need to ORGANIZE YOUR BOOK IN A WAY THAT IS CAPABLE OF CONVEYING MEANING

[essektheylyss]

Do you understand how hard it is reading poststructuralist theory and wanting to critique the writing quality and structure of it. Do you know what kind of hell this cages a person into. I am fondly stroking the cover of this book whispering, "I could fix you," while simultaneously wondering if the fact that it needs fixing is half of the point.

[lou-struck]

Missed Messages

Lucifer x reader

~ You have always tried to be self sufficient and fight your own battles. But when you reach your breaking point, you find yourself alone.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, physical and emotional feelings of stress, reader getting treated poorly for being a human, group projects.

~2.9k

You feel like there is a little stress demon bouncing around your chest. In the human world, group projects were annoying, and unfortunately, they still exist in hell.

For one of your classes, you were paired up with Olivier, a Greater demon from one of the Devildom's wealthy families, and his companions. Right from the get-go, he made it very clear that he had no intention of working on a project with a filthy human and that if you were to say anything about his refusal, it would make Diavolo's exchange program look bad if it appeared that the demons at RAD were not being accepting of humans. 

At first, you thought his threat was silly. That he was simply a slacker who wanted to get out of work. But after a while, you realized that Olivir has a strong distaste for humans and could have the influence to cause problems for the exchange program if you were to speak out against his behaviors. 

So, you put on your best face and ignored his prejudiced behavior. The subtle comments he would make under his breath when you asked questions in class, the way he would cleanse his hand with fire magic after coming into contact with something you had touched, and the way conversations would die out whenever you entered a room without one of the brothers, the Angels, or Diavolo himself by your side. 

You have been tirelessly working on this massive project all by yourself; it has stolen all of your free time, and feelings of sardonic frustration are just welling up inside of you. Now, just like the too-heavy book bag that clings to your shoulder, You are nearing your breaking point. 

The House of Lamination is a safe haven for you after your tiring days at RAD, but right as you enter through its massive double doors, you come face to face with Lucifer. The Avatar of Pride greets you with a loving expression, but he looks just as exhausted as you feel. 

"Mc? Is something troubling you?" he asks, taking in your downcast features with a frown. You want to tell him of your little problem, but he is ridiculously busy and probably has more important things to do than dealing with your inability to play nice with others.

After all, a classmate not liking you is no excuse for you to receive a poor grade on your project…

"Not at all," you reply, flashing him a sweet, convincing smile. "I'm just getting a bit hangry, I can't wait for dinner tonight."

"I see," he says doubtfully.

"How are you doing?" you ask, changing the subject. 'You look a bit stressed."

"Is it that obvious?" he chuckles, raking his hand through his raven-colored hair. "Apparently, those rubber duck toys from the human world have become quite popular in the Devildom, and Lord Diavolo thought it would be fun to give them out at RAD. So now I am going through the student council finances to determine how many ducks and varieties we need."

"Sounds complicated, but why you?"

"No clue," he sighs, "But he seems to think that I have a hidden fondness for these toys."

"Well, I'm sure this Rubber Duck event will go off without a hitch," you say earnestly. "You are so organized and capable you can make anything successful."

"Do you really mean that?" he asks, a smile gracing his fine features. You nod as he gives you a soft peck on the forehead as thanks for your kind words. "I have to work through this paperwork now, but I feel more inclined to do it after your encouragement, Mc."

"Wait," you call after him. "You better make it down for dinner tonight then; if you don't, I will personally invite Solomon to come and prepare the next meal."

His eyes widen as a shudder courses through his strong back. "There's no need for that. I promise to be down for dinner."

~

Hours later, everyone is gathered around the dinner, eating some kind of Devildom variation of lasagna that Satan made.

Beel has a whole sheet pan to himself and is chowing down as he and Belphie seem to be having a telepathic conversation that no one at the table is able to decipher. Lucifer is at the head of the table, keeping true to his promise of joining you, but he is eating quickly, clearly in a rush.

Asmodeus sits to your right, talking animatedly about something that happened today when he was at the mall, you're sure it's an entertaining story based on the reactions of the others, but you are too lost in thought, poking at your dinner plate with a silver fork. 

Although you have been working on your project for days, there is no way you are going to finish the damn thing on time. This workload was meant for a large group, not just one simple human.

"Mc? What are ya thinkin' about?" Mammon asks, stirring you from your thoughts. "Ya haven't touched yer dinner."

"Satan looks up at you from across the table. "Do you not care for this dish?" he asks. "I could make you something else if you would prefer it?" his dejection breaks your heart.

You shake your head quickly. "No, not at all," you say. "I love it; the sauce is really creamy, I just got distracted."

"Oh, I see." he nods as you take a bite of his dish. "I'm relieved."

"Gahhhh," Levi cries from his seat as he sets his game console down on the table. His screen flashing red tells you that he has just failed the level he was on. "I can't believe it, I was so close."

"Leviathan, what did I say about playing video games at the dinner table?" Lucifer asks the purple-haired demon sternly. 

"N-not to." he sulks, slipping the little handheld off the table and into his deep jacket pocket.

"Thank you," the eldest responds. He clears his throat to get the attention of everyone. "Now, if I could just have a second of your time."

"One," Belphie deadpans, looking at his older brother. They hold eye contact, and it is clear the youngest is struggling to keep a straight face at his joke.

"Anyways," the taller demon continues, "I have a very important task to finish tonight, and I will need absolutely-"

"That's two seconds now." Satan interrupts with a snicker. 

Lucifer, with the wisdom and patience of the oldest sibling, chooses to ignore the teasing and continue with what he is saying. "As I was saying, I require peace and quiet to complete these documents, so I will now be returning to my study and enchanting the door with a noise-canceling spell. I do not wish to be disturbed, so please only contact me if it is an emergency."

"Wait? So we jus can do whatever we wanna do tonight?" Mammon asks, his eyes sparkle with mischievous greed as he imagines the possibilities before him.

"Within reason, Mammon," Lucifer's crimson glare shoots to all his brothers. "But if I find out that any of you decided to waste your free time running about the devildom causing problems, rest assured, I will punish you using everything at my disposal." The room falls silent as the Avatar of Pride rises from his seat and turns to leave. His massive cape swishes dramatically as he walks out the dining room doors. 

Unsurprisingly, Asmo is the first to spring from his seat. His arms wrap around you as you inhale his sweet peach-scented cologne. "Mc, come to my room. I have the cutest top you can wear tonight when you go to the club with me." he purrs into the shell of your ear.

"No way," Mammon objects. "The human is gonna come to the Casino with the Great Mammon tonight." 

Before the two demons try to drag you across the Devildom to party, you object. "Actually, I have a project to work on," you say, standing. "But you guys have fun."

"Wait, Mc," Beel asks softly, his big eyes full of hope. "Belphie and I were gonna go get some shaved ice for dessert. Would you like to join us?"

Your heart flutters tenderly at the Avatar of Gluttony's request, but the stress you are feeling is hitting you ten-fold. "I wish I could, Beel. But I really have to get my assignment done."

"May I join you two?" Satan asks. "I find myself in the mood for dessert."

"Me too," Levi quips.

"Sounds like a plan," Belphie says, looking at you with a pout. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us?"

"I'm positive," you reply, giving them your most convincing smile. "Now, you guys should go before the shop closes for the night." Beel's eyes go wide with worry, and he hastily leaves the room. As the others follow him out. 

Now alone, your body begins to tremble under the stress of the deadline looming over your head. The walk back to your desk is a long one, and tears begin to wheel in your eyes as you stare down at your assignment rubric and wonder how, in the three realms, you are going to be able to finish this project on time. 

~

It's been hours of working. Stressing, erasing, and overthinking and you feel like you are nearing your wits end. 

Your screen lights up with a message from Asmodeus. When you open it is a video attachment. Clicking on it you see that the 6 brothers are sharing a lush VIP booth at the Fall. "I wish you were hereeeee," Asmo yells into the speaker just above the thrumming base that belphie manages to sleep through peacefully. Their cheeks are ruddy from demonus, and they have the happiest smiles on their faces. 

It brings a smile to your face as you rewatch the video. Just behind Mammon, you see a figure that has you seeing red. 

He is double-fisting some kind of green demonus and wearing a ridiculous hat, but you see your classmates, the demon Olivier and the rest of your 'group' out partying without a care in the world.

While you are at home, working tirelessly on their project. 

Something inside of you just shatters, and you turn away from your desk and throw yourself onto your bed. The soft pillows muffle your cries of frustration. Your DDD feels like a brick in your hand as you raise it to your eye level. 

Your tired face stares back at you on the black screen, and you feel so alone.

You need to talk to someone…

But it's the middle of the night, Simeon and Solomon have gone to bed hours ago and Diavolo and Barbatos are off at a diplomatic conference. You know in your heart that Lucifer is still awake, hunched over his desk as he works through his mountain of paperwork.

Although he said he did not want to be disturbed, your feelings are too severe. 

This feels like an emergency. 

You call him, wanting to at least hear the soothing sound of his voice. The Dial Tone rings once, twice, thrice… but he doesn't pick up.

You sit there, listening to the dull sound of his answering machine. "I guess even in Hell, I have to leave voicemails," you murmur, waiting for the beep. 

"Hey… It's me," you say into the speaker. It's a struggle to keep your voice steady. "I know it's late, and you have lots to do, but if you get this, could you ple-please come here. I just really need someone to talk to right now."

Just voicing your struggle is enough to send tears trickling down your face, and you quickly hang up the phone before you let out one of those raspy, croaked sounds loose from your throat.

Exhaustion courses through your body as you give up on completing the group project for the night. Perhaps when you wake tomorrow, you will have the energy to pretend your problems don't exist.

~

Lucifer wakes up with his head against the polished mahogany of his desk. A bit of drool wetting the surface as he runs his hands through his hair. "What time is it?" he mutters groggily, reaching out blindly for his DDD. 

He pats the empty surface and sits up straighter. Finding that his device is not in its usual place on his desk. His brow furrows as he begins to look through the mountain of papers, trying not to ruffle the organized stacks that he completed earlier before dozing off.

Minutes later of flipping and straightening, he finds it under the center stack and sees that it is flooded with pictures from his brothers, who look like they had a great, but expensive, night out together. 

It brings a warm smile to his lips when he sees their cheesing faces. But then he notices another notification he hadn't seen before. "Mc sent me a voicemail?" He clicks play.

"Hey… It's me. I know it's late and you have lots to do, but if you get this could you ple- please come here. I just really need someone to talk to right now." your voice sounds so weak and shaky it fills him with dread. 

How could he have missed this?

He stands abruptly, papers flying everywhere from the movement, but he really couldn't care less.

You need him. 

You needed him last night and he wasn't there for you.

He has to find you, hold you, and do whatever he can to make you feel better. 

~

Apparently, falling asleep after hitting an emotional low does not constitute the most restful sleep. Your neck feels stiff as you pull your head up from your pillows. The fabric is still slightly damp from your tears the night before. There's this icky feeling in your chest, but it doesn't seem to go away. It only intensifies when you look over at your desk, your unfinished project littering the once pristine space.

Your door flies open suddenly as a gust of air reaches your skin. Lucifer stands in the doorway tensely. He looks ragged, tired, and his deep crimson eyes are muddled with heartbreaking concern. You immediately remember the voicemail that you sent him the night before

You stressed him out; you have to fix this. 

"Good morning, Lucifer," you smile. But it doesn't reach your eyes. He can see through your little act. "I didn't mean to worry you with that voicemail; it was really nothing."

"What's wrong?" he says, coming forward, closing that painful distance with determination. His hand cupping your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes.

It's funny how one simple touch has your self-assured act crumbling to the ground like a poorly constructed house of cards. 

You find yourself spilling every detail to him, your exhaustion, the group project, the ostracization from your groupmates, and how you saw that they were out at the club last night."

All the while, Lucifer nods along with your story, his thumb gently running along your cheek in a soothing motion. His actions are caring and tender toward you, but there is a fire blazing in his eyes reserved for someone else. You may not know it yet, but Olivir's days of comfort are numbered. 

"Why didn't you tell me of this before," he asks softly once you finish your explanation. "Why did you take this burden upon yourself?"

"I was worried, "you admit. "I heard that Olivir comes from an influential family. If I said anything, he could cause problems for the exchange program that you and Diavolo have worked so hard for."

"Mc, I promise you, that little rat was greatly exaggerating his self-importance." Lucifer's hand rubs gentle circles into your back. "If anything, you have far more influence in Devildom politics than he does," he adds with an amused chuckle. "

"He's still a jerk, though." you sniffle, wiping your eyes. "Thank you for coming here to cheer me up."

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner," he murmurs. "You needed me, and I let you down; please let me make it up to you today."

"You have nothing to make up for," you start, glancing back at your table. "Besides, I have to finish that project before tomorrow."

"Absolutely not," he says abruptly. "You will not lay a finger on that project since clearly you have done more than your share. I will make sure Lord Diavolo hears of this situation and you receive full marks on the work you have already done. I need you to know that you can rely on me. No matter how busy I am, I should never be too busy to come to your aid."

"I love you," you sigh, feeling the burdens lifting off your chest and disappearing into nothingness. "But I should've told you sooner. What do you think will happen to the rest of my group?"

He smiles and kisses the top of your head; as you lean into his touch, you don't see the dark look on his features. "Don't worry about them, Mc, I'll make sure they never cause you pain ever again. Now, let's get changed; I'll take you to that new cafe that opened up to Majolish and enjoy the rest of the day.

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura

Summary: This was supposed to be a Rhysand x Reader Calanmai One Shot and boy oh boy did it spiral into a whole, multi chapter AU fic 🤷🏼‍♀️ It’s now a what if Rhys’s mate was someone other than Feyre and they both end up Under the Mountain together fic

Content Warnings: Eventual Smut, Some Suggestiveness because Rhys is here, I mean look at him everyone wants that male; canon typical violence, UTM. Each chapter will have listed content warnings.

Part Two is here

————————————————————————-

“Stay inside, away from the windows. Make sure the doors are locked.” It’s the same speech every year, the same frantic, worried rant about staying away from those types of parties and the trouble they could bring. Never mind that you’re an adult, have been for awhile, and are perfectly capable of making the decision on your own and had decided years ago that Calanmai wasn’t really your scene. A party in a library sure, but an outdoor orgy in what was basically the High Lord of Spring’s backyard was about as opposite of you as you could get.

“I’ll be in the attic, organizing my books,” you swear and your uncle’s graying head bobs with a heavy sigh of relief as he shuts the door. Some of the livestock have gone missing--most likely the result of several visiting fae whose scene definitely is Calanmai--but he couldn’t make complaints to the High Lord until he was sure they hadn’t simply wandered out of the padlock on their own. He’s taking all three of the farmhands with him, leaving you alone in the house.

It would be a blissful couple of days. The house quiet. You plan to make tea and practice the new bread recipe you’d found tucked into one of your carefully preserved books from two centuries before. You’ve accumulated quite a collection of things in the years of your uncle’s ceaseless wandering. He’s never stayed anywhere long.

If you could focus on it, that is.

Calanmai might have never been your scene, but it did something to you every year you couldn’t explain. It had started a couple years ago; a strange whispering on the wind at first, a voice begging you to “Come. Come and see.”  The next year, after being ignored the voice had come with phantom drum beats, an echo of the ones that would sometimes crest the hill between your farmhouse and the High Lord’s estate; the voice more urgent, the drum beats like a pulse in your skull. The following year the visions started. You’d go to sleep and find yourself drifting through the air, wings beating above you, shadowy hands holding you as you flew over the bonfires and beating drums, bodies writhing and merging beneath you, before depositing you in the darkness of what you could only describe as some sort of ancient cave. When you’d woken up you found yourself half way up the hill in your sleep clothes, unsure of how you’d even gotten out of the house. You’d never mentioned it to your uncle, he was prone to worry, but it was becoming clearer and clearer every year that there was something out there that wanted you out on Calanmai. True to form, you’d started hearing the drum beats upon waking this morning, their beat a steady pulse in your temples.

Still, whatever beckons, you're not interested in meeting. You’d seen a couple priestesses and gotten a sleeping tonic that would knock you out for the night, all you needed to do was pass the time until nightfall, take the tonic, and in the morning, all would be right again. Never mind the ache in your chest you’d feel in the morning, the blaring loss a living thing in your soul, as if your decision to stay away had torn something apart in you. It was a manageable wound, for your family’s sake. Memories of your parents had been hazy at best, it had always just been you and your mother’s brother. He’d said something had happened in your home court, that he’d had no other choice but to take you and run, never any other details. Your powers were a strange, unmanageable thing that prowled beneath your skin, a restless beast you couldn’t tie to any court to try and figure out where you’d come from. They weren’t seasonal, not ice or flame or wind; you’d imagined as a kid you’d gotten them in the Night Court, the darkness that sometimes sparked from your fingertips unruly enough to make it plausible, but there was nothing definitive. And your parents, for all the good things your uncle said about his sister, had never tried to find you, leaving all questions unanswered. Left you alone with your uncle and your constant moving with his job. He worked hard to make a life for the two of you, you owed it to him to not cause any trouble, to stay inside and cook and read and help him with his trading business as best you could. Whatever it was out there that beckoned, it was not worth seeing the pain on your uncle’s face. He’d escaped something, that much was clear, you would not damn him to something else, even for your own peace of mind.

This year feels different though, and you can’t deny it. The voice more urgent, the drum beats louder. You find yourself rubbing your temples, a headache building, as you try and fail to read the recipe in your hands. The words blur, a swirl of indistinguishable colors and shapes. You pinch you eyes closed, shake your head as if to clear the voice, trying again and again to make the words make sense, but the drums won’t stop beating.

You hurl the book across the room, knocking a picture off the wall, glass shattering on impact.

“Leave me alone!” You hiss at no one, teeth bared. Talons form at your fingertips, dark shadows whispering over your skin.

“Come. Come and see,” begs the voice.

You draw a breath, then another, and another until the shadows disappear and the talons retract. If you blow the roof off the house, like last time, you’ll have to move again. Beyond your uncle’s disappointment there’s the issue of… her. The war bands, the bogge, the Attor, always a threat looming over your travels, pushing you further and further away from busy cities, all enough on their own, but the Blight adds another layer. Your Uncle said the war she helped wage against the humans was devastating, but the one she could bring here? Sometimes you wonder if she’s the reason you move so much, as if your uncle has been trying in vain all these years to escape the war path closing in on Prythian. He’d never dare delve into the Human Lands, but Spring is one of the few places she has yet to ravish. You can’t risk another move.

You focus on controlling your breathing as you sweep up the glass, and leave the picture of you and your uncle on the table. You’ll find a new frame tomorrow, for today, it’s best if you take that sleeping tonic and avoid any further outbursts.

You make quick work of double checking the locks before changing into your sleep clothes and climbing into bed. It’s only just starting to get dark, the last few rays of sunlight fighting to break through your worn curtains. The priestesses didn’t mention how long it would take to work, or how long it would last, but the drums are still so loud, and the voice won’t stop pleading. It’s a nice voice, if your honest, but you can’t go out there. You won’t.

The vial in your hand is cold, the glass pitted like it’s been used before, it’s contents a bright blue color that glitters even in the darkness. You down it in one gulp, the taste like bursting, overripe fruit. The effects are immediate, you’re asleep before your head even hits the pillows.

  The house is strange, twisted; the wooden walls thorny, gnarled like old tree trunks, the wind howling through the gaps of what used to be the windows. Fire light flickers through the gaps, casting shadows across the space as you stumble from the bed, bare legs caught in sheets suddenly made of vines.

It’s wrong, all wrong.

You stumble on legs that don’t quite work right down the stairs, slashing yours hands open on the thorns that had sprouted out of the railing alongside dark, night blooming flowers.

“Come. Come and see.”

The flowers bloom at the sound of the voice, the violets petals glowing in the darkness, leading you like wisps out the front door, now covered in vines and leaves. Disoriented, you follow the flowers out into the night, the stars dazzlingly bright overhead.

The world outside is not the one you know, the rolling hills now scorched and burned, the trees gnarled and twisted. Dark shapes with glowing eyes sit on the dying branches, starring only at you, some growling, others hissing.

There’s a single line of flowers, twisting away from the leering eyes and you race after them.

“Come. Come and see.”

You’re running before you know it, scooping up flowers as you go.

Something behind you still growls, it’s footsteps rattling the ground behind you. No matter where you look, you can’t see it, like it’s wholly veiled in the darkness. It has your heart pounding in your chest, the beat steady like drums. You push yourself faster, following the flowers over the ruined hills.

The flowers lead you into another wooded area, the trees still barely clinging to life here, their fallen leaves crunching under your bare feet. Branches tug at your shift, tearing the thin materiel, clawing at your exposed legs. Still, the thing behind you prowls closer, it’s breath hot as flame as it chases you.

The flowers wind around trees, deeper, deeper, into the dark, the only light the stars and the flowers; it’s your only chance at escaping. You push, going as fast as your legs can carry you, the drum beats of your heart still echoing in your ears. Soon enough the flowers direct you in a straight line, directly into the mouth of a cave. It feels wrong, going into a cave with some sort of beast snapping on your heels but what other choice do you have?

You reach the mouth of the cave, hand brushing the rough rock, gasping for breath. The darkness beyond beckons, “Come. Come and see,” but there are no flowers here. No stars to light the way, only the darkness of night and shadows.

The thing beyond you roars in challenge as you set one foot in…

You jerk awake like your soul is coming back into your body.

Maybe it is, because you’re not in your bed. There’s half a dozen cuts across your bare legs, staining the bottom of your torn shift, mud splattered across your legs. It feels like you’re wading through soup as you assess yourself, your mind muddled, unable to process where you got the glowing, violet flower in your hands. When you finally have the presence of mind to look up, you are in fact starring at the cavernous mouth of a cave you’ve never seen before.

Somewhere in the distance, the drums pound. Firelight dances among the treeline behind you. You’d gotten outside. On Calanmai. The tonic not only failed, it had left you so horribly vulnerable and queasy you were shaking. You need to get back home, back inside where it’s safe.

From somewhere in the shadows of the trees not far from you, a voice says, “I’m pretty sure I saw her go this way!”

Ice shoots through your veins, feet freezing in place.

The flower seems to warm in your hands, as if reminding you it was there, of the dream that had brought you here. You glance at the cave, the darkness beckoning. It might be a safe place to hide, if those voices are in fact looking for you. They are clearly male, and a few of them at that, and alone in a shift on Calanmai…

The cave might be a terrible spot, you’re pretty sure you had heard something about High Lords and caves, specifically on Calanmai, but the drowsy effect of the tonic has not entirely worn off, and with the voice drawing closer you don’t have time to try and remember what it was.

You step into the darkness, praying it isn’t the worst mistake of your life, and the darkness envelopes you like a caress. It’s almost as if it… moves, shadows and night itself twining around your legs, your arms, brushing along your spine with feather light touches. As if darkness is acquainting itself with the feel of you. You shiver, nervous, but the touch is not unwelcome.

Voices sound outside, but they are muffled, veiled.

Another step, then another, the flower still clutched in your hand blooms, glowing a little brighter. The scent of jasmine and citrus flows from it, fills all your senses.

The cave descends, the ground sloping a bit, and then you have to duck to follow the worn path. There should be loose rock along the path, but it is smooth, like sand beneath your bare feet, like someone had come along and swept out the debris. There’s nothing there to hinder your progress towards what you can only assume is the heart of the cave.

Perhaps this is all a part of your strange dream, that would certainly explain the flower, but what other choice do you have no but to keep going? From behind you, those voices from the woods sound again, as if they have stepped into the cave too.

“You’re sure she came in here?”

“Where else would she go out here?”

“Do you think Mistress will let us have a little fun before she gets her hands on her?”

Its that that makes you freeze, all thought eddying from your head.

The flower shrinks in your hand, the light dimming, even as the darkness of the cave twines itself around you, the caress like a cat rubbing against your legs, as if it’s trying to soothe you, calm you. You can’t move.

The sudden shift in the air of the cave is palpable. Goosebumps raise on your arms as the temperature drops, as the darkness deepens.

“What the fuck?” One of the men hisses.

And then the screaming starts, the blood curdling cries rattling the walls.

Still you can’t move, can’t see, can only stand there in the company of the shadow still rubbing soothing circles into your back while the earth trembles and dust rains down from the cave roof.

Just as quickly as the screaming starts, it stops, the only sound know the subtle drip of something wet hitting the floor. Your senses are sharp enough for you to scent the cooper tint of blood in the air, but even your keen senses can’t pick up what caused it. You can’t hear anything either, no footsteps, no fighting. It’s over.

You exhale a shaky breath, hands still trembling around the flower. Until it suddenly dies, the petals falling from your cupped hands. You’re strangely attached to it now, hands scrambling to catch the petals in the dark when that same glow appears around the bend in the cave.

Another flower, a way out!

You step towards it, not stopping to ask yourself why this one is smaller, so far away from the ground. Its not until you’re nearly upon it, nearly slamming into it, that you realize it’s not a flower at all. It doesn’t truly click into place until a firm set of hands grabs hold of you, stopping you from slamming right into the owner of that glowing set of violet eyes.

You might have screamed, were it not for the voice that says, “There you are, I’ve been looking for you.”

The world tilts before you as it clicks into place that you know that voice. It’s the one that called you out here.

[verystrxxwberry]

MY CANDY LOVE; “Could you hug me?”

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: fluff, MCL routes (all of them), comfort. ↝ 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Well, as promised, here it is the last part with mcl! Sorry if it isn’t the best content, I’ve made this while being sick :’)

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

❖ CASTIEL ;; His eyebrow rises the moment he hears you say that, and you see him hesitate for a few seconds about why you need such a hug. Still, with a neutral expression, he shrugs and says "sure, if you need it". His arm reaches out and invites you into his embrace. Castiel is not very good at comforting, but he cares about you and is worried. His hand rubs your side gently. His scent of strong deodorant, mixed with cologne and tobacco essence is somewhat comforting in a way; it reminds you that it's him. And that he is also allowing you to be in an embrace with him.

❖ NATHANIEL ;; A small smile breaks out on his face when you ask him, plus his cheeks painting in a reddish color. "Oh, does anyone need some cuddles?" He would say in a slightly teasing manner, coming over to wrap his arms around you. He loves having you close and being able to smell your scent. Nathaniel loves to feel the shape of your body against his, caressing your waist, back and shoulders. In fact, it would be on your shoulders where he would take the opportunity to leave some delicate kisses. "Better this way?" he would whisper, while only separating his face to look at you, probably sticking his forehead against yours, keeping his eyes closed and waiting for you to be the one to initiate the separation of the embrace.

❖ LYSANDER ;; Lysander's hugs feel like an event capable of renewing your life towards a better one. The moment you ask him, a concern shows through his eyes, and by a hand on your hip he draws you into his lap. Then he hugs you carefully not to squeeze you too tightly, as if you were a delicate flower. "Is there a specific reason for requesting a hug, my dear?" He would ask, but not even showing discomfort. One of his hands caresses your hair, while holding you close to him, he would even begin to sing some secret soft melody he has composed, trying to get you to relax.

❖ KENTIN ;; The things I would do to bury myself in those pecs.... The proposal makes him quite shy, but his gaze would soften and he would undoubtedly draw you in for a hug. "You don't even have to ask." His grip is firm and warm, while remaining static so you can enjoy every second of the moment. At some point his hand cups your cheek and he plants a small kiss on your lips. "Everything okay?" he would ask you, checking your face down to the smallest detail to see that you are really okay. 

❖ ARMIN ;; The hugs with Armin are spontaneous and crushing, just like those with Alexy. It is very common that while he or you are playing on the computer, he sits you on his lap and hugs you with one or two arms around your waist. But the moment you ask him for a hug while he is in the middle of a game, he doesn't bother to pause the game (unless it costs him sweat and tears) and holds you in his arms. "Do you want to pass me this isaac run?" he would ask you with a playful tone, as he pulls you to him to invite you into his lap. His way of comforting and cheer you up is to offer you his games for you to enjoy and play while he spreads caresses and kisses all over your back.

❖ RAYAN ;; He would close his book and patpat beside him for you to sit down, then he would put his arm around both your shoulders and draw you in to rest on his chest. "Close your eyes and rest, I'll be here" As he holds the book with one hand, with the other he strokes your head to relax you. He is worried about you, but he prefers give you enough time to organize your thoughts as long as you talk to him about it later. He likes to help you with any issues or overthinking. A pretty and smart brain like yours shouldn't be wasting time on other unnecessary stuff.

❖ HYUN ;; His heart skips a beat the moment you ask him that question, and he nervously starts to laugh. "Oh, how sweet! Of course yes, I couldn't say no to something so adorable." He says as he reaches over to squeeze you for several seconds. He'd mumble a few questions, but generally keep his smile full of love knowing that you've chosen to turn to him when you needed something as comforting as a hug. He loves them!

❖ PRIYA ;; Her presence is already enough to give comfort, imagine her hugs. In addition to the sweet scent of her perfume and the affection of her touch, her soft and low voice in accordance with the environment. Priya also often resorts to hugging you to release stress, asking you in the same way so she can spend a few good minutes cuddling with you. So in the same way, she would take you somewhere private if you are not already, and spend the necessary time snuggling you against her. "You're doing great, honey" she whispers to you from time to time, kissing the top of your head; whether something has happened or not, she wants you to know how proud she is of you.

✩; remember to reblog and like to support my content, I hope you enjoyed it!

[anarchywoofwoof]

People in the U.S. are preoccupied with voting to an unhealthy degree. This is not to say that everyone votes, or thinks voting is effective or worthwhile; on the contrary, a smaller and smaller proportion of the eligible population votes every election year, and that’s not just because more and more people are in prison. But when you broach the question of politics, of having a say in the way things are, voting is just about the only strategy anyone can think of—voting, and influencing others’ votes.

Could it be this is why so many people feel so disempowered? Is anonymously checking a box once a year, or every four years, enough to feel included in the political process, let alone play a role in it?

But what is there besides voting? In fact, voting for people to represent your interests is the least efficient and effective means of applying political power. The alternative, broadly speaking, is acting directly to represent your interests yourself. This is known in some circles as “direct action.”

Direct action is occasionally misunderstood to mean another kind of campaigning, lobbying for influence on elected officials by means of political activist tactics; but it properly refers to any action or strategy that cuts out the middle man and solves problems directly, without appealing to elected representatives, corporate interests, or other powers.

Concrete examples of direct action are everywhere. When people start their own organization to share food with hungry folks, instead of just voting for a candidate who promises to solve “the homeless problem” with tax dollars and bureaucracy, that’s direct action.

When a man makes and gives out fliers addressing an issue that concerns him, rather than counting on the newspapers to cover it or print his letters to the editor, that’s direct action.

When a woman forms a book club with her friends instead of paying to take classes at a school, or does what it takes to shut down an unwanted corporate superstore in her neighborhood rather than deferring to the authority of city planners, that’s direct action, too.

Direct action is the foundation of the old-fashioned can-do American ethic, hands-on and no- nonsense. Without it, hardly anything would get done. In a lot of ways, direct action is a more effective means for people to have a say in society than voting is.

For one thing, voting is a lottery—if a candidate doesn’t get elected, then all the energy his constituency put into supporting him is wasted, as the power they were hoping he would exercise for them goes to someone else. With direct action, you can be sure that your work will offer some kind of results; and the resources you develop in the process, whether those be experience, contacts and recognition in your community, or organizational infrastructure, cannot be taken away from you.

Voting consolidates the power of a whole society in the hands of a few politicians; through force of sheer habit, not to speak of other methods of enforcement, everyone else is kept in a position of dependence. Through direct action, you become familiar with your own resources and capabilities and initiative, discovering what these are and how much you can accomplish.

Voting forces everyone in a movement to try to agree on one platform; coalitions fight over what compromises to make, each faction insists that they know the best way and the others are messing everything up by not going along with their program. A lot of energy gets wasted in these disputes and recriminations. In direct action, on the other hand, no vast consensus is necessary: different groups can apply different approaches according to what they believe in and feel comfortable doing, which can still interact to form a mutually beneficial whole.

People involved in different direct actions have no need to squabble, unless they really are seeking conflicting goals (or years of voting have taught them to fight with anyone who doesn’t think exactly as they do). Conflicts over voting often distract from the real issues at hand, as people get caught up in the drama of one party against another, one candidate against another, one agenda against another. With direct action, on the other hand, the issues themselves are raised, addressed specifically, and often resolved.

Voting is only possible when election time comes around.

Direct action can be applied whenever one sees fit.

Voting is only useful for addressing whatever topics are current in the political agendas of candidates, while direct action can be applied in every aspect of your life, in every part of the world you live in.

Voting is glorified as “freedom” in action. It’s not freedom— freedom is getting to decide what the choices are in the first place, not picking between Pepsi and Coca-Cola.

Direct action is the real thing. You make the plan, you create the options, the sky’s the limit.

Ultimately, there’s no reason the strategies of voting and direct action can’t both be applied together. One does not cancel the other out. The problem is that so many people think of voting as their primary way of exerting political and social power that a disproportionate amount of everyone’s time and energy is spent deliberating and debating about it while other opportunities to make change go to waste. For months and months preceding every election, everyone argues about the voting issue, what candidates to vote for or whether to vote at all, when voting itself takes less than an hour.

Vote or don’t, but get on with it!

Remember how many other ways you can make your voice heard. This being an election year, we hear constantly about the options available to us as voters, and almost nothing about our other opportunities to play a decisive role in our society. What we need is a campaign to emphasize the possibilities more direct means of action and community involvement have to offer. These need not be seen as in contradiction with voting.

We can spend an hour voting once a year, and the other three hundred sixty four days and twenty three hours acting directly! Those who are totally disenchanted with representative democracy, who dream of a world without presidents and politicians, can rest assured that if we all learn how to apply deliberately the power that each of us has, the question of which politician is elected to office will become a moot point.

They only have that power because we delegate it to them! A campaign for direct action puts power back where it belongs, in the hands of the people from whom it originates.

(Crimethinc, 2004)

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Right, so, I've been seeing some persistent misconceptions in fanfiction where a character has ADHD. I'm a man of color with ADHD and I want to clear some things up. This is specifically about how people tend to write Ed Teach, but it can apply to other characters you're writing with ADHD. And I'd love if other people with ADHD, especially other people of color with ADHD, have any additions to tack on!

These things are NOT what ADHD is.

ADHD does not make you "stupid." This whole thing was inspired because I just read a fic where Ed cites his ADHD as evidence he's "dumber" than the other characters (and this was supported by the writing in the story). There is no correlation between ADHD and intelligence, and we know that Ed is a genius!

ADHD does not automatically mean that someone can't finish school or can't succeed in demanding academic fields. I'm working on my PhD. It just means your character needs coping skills.

ADHD does not mean that someone will "hyperfixate" on or suddenly lose interest in relationships, whether romantic or platonic.

ADHD doesn't mean your character struggles with personal hygeine or keeping their home clean. Please stop making me read fics that characterize a man of color as dirty or incapable of keeping his home clean and excusing it because "he has ADHD!"

ADHD doesn't mean that your character will need someone to look after or supervise everything they do. Ed does not need a White man to take care of him or make sure his work gets done.

ADHD doesn't mean a character will be unable to sit still, focus, stay on-task, or sit in silence 100% of the time. We all have different tolerance levels and those can change depending on current circumstances.

Here are some more realistic, interesting ways ADHD can impact successful, smart characters of color, like Ed.

He might feel the need to be hypercompetent, all the time.

He might get frustrated with himself. ADHD can be frustrating! You can be on top of things 99% of the time at work and school, and have people look up to you, and then you'll realize that you've been forgetting to book that doctor's appointment for six months straight now and you'll feel like a failure.

He might overcorrect symptoms. For example, he might have trouble keeping a neat, organized space and know that messes stress him out, so he overcorrects by being a bit of a neat freak and avoiding mess wherever possible so his space never becomes unmanageable.

He might struggle with The Evil Boredom. That's when you feel super understimulated and nothing is enough to help.

He might have trouble sitting still or saying quiet when he's nervous, feeling strong emotions, or in a boring environment or trying to do a boring task (the scene where Ed struggled with being still and quiet while fishing, while also feeling strong emotions of guilt, was super relatable).

I like to write AuDHD characters (with both autism and ADHD), and it can add a fun new dimension! I personally headcanon Ed as AuDHD. When you have both, symptoms can be frustrating because they can feel contradictory (for example, my autism demands I keep a neat, tidy space and I like routines, but my ADHD means I have trouble keeping things tidy to my standards and routines are super boring).

And finally but crucially: it's obviously okay to headcanon a character as ADHD or with any other neurodivergence when you're White. However, it's important to remember that the experience of neurodivergence looks different for people of color. Boys of color with ADHD, for example, are often overdiagnosed with ODD and labelled as "defiant" or "uncooperative." I often avoid telling White friends and coworkers that I'm AuDHD because it tends to make them infantalize me, as if I haven't already proven to them I'm a capable adult. People of color often have to go undiagnosed or without appropriate medications (if needed) and/or are misdiagnosed. If you're writing about a chracter of color with ADHD, I really recommend finding a sensitivity reader.

[m1d-45]

your shield, a sword

summary: how various genshin men deal with conflict or confrontation when you’re involved. ft. wanderer, thoma, tighnari, zhongli, alhaitham, cyno and albedo, in that order.

word count: ~2k

-> warnings: major spoilers for sumeru archon quest (specifically 2nd part w the wanderer) and liyue archon quest, minor spoilers for tighnari + albedo + alhaitham + kaveh lore

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me

< masterlist >

wanderer rarely lets any remark slip by him. after his memories were restored, he’s not identical to who he was before, but being who he was carries a heavy temper with it. he’s getting better at it, but he can still often be found locked in a heated discussion with one scholar or another. it’s rare he gives them his time, but when they so blindly get a detail of history wrong, something easily researched had they bothered to open the book, he’s not going to let that slide. misinformation is a problem in the akademiya already, no need to perpetuate it.

you don’t have the heart to tell him that most scholars aren’t like him, and don’t research every facet of their argument before making a point with it. not everyone is that rigorous in their study, which is why his papers stand out so much.

physical encounters are the same from the outside, but starkly different if you looked closer. he’s still antagonistic, still drawing their attention to him, standing in front of you and fighting the urge to look back. the fatui were a cruel organization, and while he was used to people picking on him, were you? he was a lot, would you be okay with it? his attitude was a shield that covered his fear, and fights—as rare as they were—only exacerbated these anxieties. would you leave him? you didn’t call him out on his behavior as often, was that because he was getting better or because you were getting tired? he doesn’t know, and is honestly afraid to ask. it’s easier to pretend to be confident than actually try to be; this outlook got him this far, and it’ll get him further. he’s certain it will…

thoma, as a mondstat native first and inazuman ‘fixer’ second, has had more than his fair share of conflicts. people that disrespect him or another, those that believe he doesn’t belong or that he’s being unfair, the staff of the other commissions that believed ayato was unfair for employing him as his retainer… the list could stretch from ritou to liyue and back with slack to spare. as such, he’s learned a lot about how to deescalate while still holding firm, and is more than willing to extend this to you. whether because you’re not one for confrontation or because it’s a matter of politics and he doesn’t want your words to get twisted by whoever’s listening, he’s not afraid to step in.

he’s also well trained with his polearm. not many dare to attack one so close to the yashiro commissioner, but the few treasure hoarders that do are met with the point of his blade and a sharp warning. he doesn’t like fighting, not only because of the incident report that always needs to be submitted afterward and the anxiety that someone might take the opportunity to paint him in a bad light, but because he runs the risk of injury. nobody he cares about likes to see him hurt, and he hates to worry them. sometimes it’s necessary, and he won’t apologize for getting involved, but he will say sorry for worrying you. trust him, he’s a capable man, and if it really bothers you then he’ll take you to feed the strays around the city. that’s always a nice way for him to destress, and he’s certain you’ll enjoy it too.

tighnari is a man who stands for his morals and integrity. hell, he got his vision by correcting someone during an academic debate, and denies his master at the academiya on a regular basis in favor of reforming the entirety of the forest rangers. he’s taunted fatui into a fight and his tongue is sharper than his arrows. karkata is proof of his entire character, and he’s very obviously willing to put word and bow to use in defending his principles and what he loves.

would he rather know you’re safe in gandharva ville? obviously, but another scholar bothering him for help he won’t be thanked for isn’t something he can nor should protect you for. you’re your own person, and if you don’t want to see him dismantle their argument point by point, that’s your prerogative. you know the way home and so does he, and if a half hour or so of his time is the price for a handful of months of quiet, well, who’s he to deny it?

he’s stopped investing emotionally into these arguments a long time ago, and it’s only when they dare to bring you into it that he does get a bit heated. still, within the hour he’s successfully compartmentalized that person’s opinion away, and doesn’t let it affect him. he won’t hold it against you if you’re upset, never—emotions are healthy and if anything he’s happy you trust him enough to tell him—but he will list out every single reason why actually, their opinion doesn’t matter, and your time is better spent elsewhere; like with him, for example.

zhongli is well versed in battle, more than capable of defending both you and himself with nothing but his spear. his power has lessened since he’d given up his gnosis, but celestia could not help the mitachurls on the wrong end of planet befall. his shield is nothing to scoff at, and the abundance of geo in liyue makes it impossible for him to ever feel threatened.

but just because he can doesn’t mean he wants to. he could take down a platoon of fatui on his own, but if you’re with him then he wouldn’t even consider it. a single stele rises from the earth, a jade shield forming around you as he pulls you into his arms, letting the resonance from the stele disorient the fatui. he may not be a marathon runner, but he’s still a god that knows liyue like the back of his hand. he knows you’re not hurt physically, and when he finds a good tree to sit under with you the first thing he does is make sure you’re not scared anymore. he’s here, he promises, you’re going to be okay. the wind is cool and his arms are secure, and when it’s over he’ll give you a silk flower for your bravery.

alhaitham doesn’t have time for racket like this. no, seriously, he has a date to go on and this is more of a minor inconvenience than anything. he puts an arm around your waist and keeps you tight to him, but that’s the only sign he’s feeling anything other than annoyance. it doesn’t matter how upset he may be internally, how much of his mind is allocated to how quickly he could get you back to his house, his face is a mask that his opponents can’t break.

you can, though. as he rushes you away down the twisting alleys of sumeru city, you can feel the urgency with which he walks, the slightest of frowns on his face. when he returns to his home, he sequesters you away in his room, somewhere he knows is safe. he keeps you close, frets, part of him upset over the ruined outing but mostly concerned for you.

he knows he’s got a thicker skin than most, so he tends to overreact slightly with you, unknowing of how much one thing affects you. people are different, yes, but he’s used to kaveh, so it’ll take him a good ten to twenty minutes to believe that you’re actually fine and not just saying so so he’d stop fussing.

he’s still going to make you the dinner you missed out on, but it’s just because he’s hungry too, okay? yeah it’s your favorite but that doesn’t mean anything, it’s just growing on him. sit down before kaveh hears you and starts to tease him.

cyno has plenty of experience in dealing with people that dislike him. criminals attacking him after he’d taken their leader in for custody, family of others that believed he’d unjustly arrested them. for the most part, it’s an easy enough problem to deal with once the revenge has been launched. it’s just another mission for him to take care of, a routine side effect of his job. he arrests someone, people get mad, they attack, he arrests a few more. he’s more than used to fighting his way out of situations, and is skilled at doing so.

but with you?

he refuses to involve you with his work. doesn’t matter if you’ve trained for years, you could be a matra yourself and he’d still be adamant that you stay away from his work. he makes dangerous people mad, and the last thing he wants is for you to get tied into his business.

if, archons forbid, you’re with him when one of these groups retaliates, he reaches for you before his weapon. he’s not going to fight, not when you could get hurt. maybe you could stand your own, maybe he’d be able to take on some of these eremites too, but that’s the last thing on his mind. he takes your hand in his and flees, stopping only once he runs into another matra to report the attack before continuing to either your home or his office, whichever is closer.

you’re more important to him than any capture, and even the smallest of nicks on you still makes him feel guilty. lie with him for a while, move his headpiece to a side table and let him put his ear to your heart. he’s afraid for you, you know, and surely you can’t hold such a thing against him?

albedo isn’t one for confrontation. any talk that escalates into shouting is one that he dislikes, both because of the spectacle and principle of it. a discussion should be civil, with all parties level headed and self aware enough to both concede when another is right and accept when they are wrong. he understands the latter can be difficult, and sometimes struggles with admitting fault himself, but to shout? to yell? to win not with logic or speech but with force and intimidation? that is a battle not worth fighting.

physical altercations aren’t his forte either. he’s an alchemist for archons’ sake, not a swordsman. his blade is more of a necessity, something to get him out of tough spots and little more. he’s an artist, a scientist, and the day you see him willingly start in a fight, verbal or physical, is the day you know you have the wrong albedo.

he’s not the most talented with emotions, but he has the best memory in mondstat. he knows what you like, when to talk or stay silent, when you need touch and want to be alone, not based off some intuition but off a careful deduction from your behavior. it gets to him, sometimes, that he needs a formula to fix your distress, but he’s easily soothed. he trusts you, so when you give him a kiss on his temple with a murmured thanks, he believes that you don’t mind.

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Elementary, Finale:

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

rating: E (18+ only—i choose not to list warnings for this one as not to spoil anything but you know how we get down over here on GMNO, happy endings only. read at your own discretion.) unedited/not proofread (for now)

wc: 7k

series masterlist | joel masterlist

June, 2004

“Don’t you dare,” Joel ordered as he surprised you from the doorway of your bedroom—your former bedroom.

You stood in front of a stack of cardboard boxes labeled “linens”, your hands resting on two sides as though you were caught mid-lift. He walked over to you with a smirk, shaking his head before lifting the box for you.

“You’re already carrying enough,” he said, eyes falling to your swollen belly, six-months into your first pregnancy.

“I think I’m more than capable of carrying a box of sheets,” you countered with a matching smirk, reaching for the box that sat below the one he just stole from you.

“Uh-uh,” Tommy came rushing in, sweeping the box from your grasp. “You got my nephew to worry about.”

“How do you know I’m having a boy?” you asked, following your fiancé and soon-to-be brother in law out of your old home to watch them load the moving truck.

“I can just feel it,” he replied, earning a smile from his older brother.

“I’m still hopin’ for another girl,” Joel admitted as he walked down the rickety metal ramp to meet you as you stood in the walkway, his hands sliding over your belly to rest on your waist. He placed a sweet kiss on your lips before letting you go. “You should go sit in the sunroom with Sarah and Jessie. Make sure they’re keepin’ room for Jesus and all that.”

“Oh, let them be. Not like we have to worry about teen pregnancy—“

“Alright, alright.” Joel covered his ears, wincing at the thought. “Still, I don’t want you workin’ too hard.”

“Joel, I promise, I’m not working hard at all. You and Tommy won’t give me the chance.”

“That’s how it should be,” he countered, walking inside the house with you following behind.

“Guys, guess what?” Sarah and her newly defined girlfriend, Jessie burst into the half-packed kitchen as you stood slowly making your way through your pantry, organizing a keep pile and a donate pile. Joel lifted a brow at her as he started on taking the metal barstools that stood at your kitchen island apart so that they could take up less room in the truck. “Britney Spears is coming to San Antonio next month.”

“Praise to the heavens,” Joel mumbled under his breath, earning a chuckle from you as you rolled you eyes at his lackluster reaction.

“That’s fun!” you replied, looking at the two fifteen year-olds. “How much are tickets?”

“Like thirty bucks,” Jessie sighed, frowning. “My mom’s gonna make me work at the restaurant to earn it.”

“Well, she’s got the right idea,” Joel stood, having disassembled the first stool. “Sarah, why don’t you come work with me and Tommy this week and I’ll buy your ticket.”

“Really?” she asked with a hopeful smile before remembering her fathers line of work. “Wait—at the site? I won’t know what to do.”

“I’m sure we can find somethin’ for you to do.”

“Yeah, I mean…Britney’s worth it,” Sarah sighed and shrugged before walking back into the sunroom with Jessie in tow.

“Hey, did I tell you we got a new hire?” Joel spoke to you as he started on the second stool.

“Oh, that’s good. I thought you were having trouble finding someone?”

“We were, but she got the seal of approval from Tommy. Guess she’s a real jack-of-all-trades type’a builder. S’just what we needed.” You smiled at him proudly, his construction company having taken off this last year and a half. They were almost too busy, too booked, leaving Joel and Tommy to stay behind and work the amount of four people instead of two just so that their projects remained on time. “Hopefully might start gettin’ two days off a week instead of one.”

“That would be nice,” you hummed, walking over to him to slide your hand over his sweaty but irresistible back as he crouched down to unscrew some bolts from the legs of the stool. “I’ve been like a lonely little housewife these last few months. Holed up waiting for my man to come back from the coal mines.”

“Oh, is that right?” He looked up at you with a smirk. It had been a few weeks since the two of you had last been together, long days at the site and, for you, at school forcing you apart. Aside from a few steamy but quick makeouts, you were left longing for your soon-to-be husband. “I been neglectin’ you, huh?”

You nodded, your smile spreading wider as you played along, your voice dramatic and theatrical as you tried on an old-timey southern belle persona. “All I got is this baby I’m brewing to remember you by.”

Joel stood up and dropped his tools on the kitchen counter before letting his hands find your waist, tugging you as close to him as your belly would allow. He leaned in, pressing a featherlight kiss to your cheek that caused your entire body to light with chills as his kisses traveled down your neck.

“Why don’t I take you into the bedroom and give you that attention you’ve been needin’ so bad,” he rasped against your skin, dizzying your mind as you clung to him, breathless and wanting.

“House full of people,” Tommy’s voice sounded, reminding the two of you why you’d gone so long without each other in the first place. “Thought this would be done by now. Been, what, three years?”

“Don’t mind him, his longest relationship has been with the goddamn Longhorns,” Joel mumbled, keeping you hugged to his body. “Don’t know a thing about real love.”

“Yeah, yeah, save me the lecture, old man.” Tommy batted his brother’s teasing away and continued on packing and moving in the living room.

“Have I really been neglectin’ you, baby? All jokes aside,” Joel asked in a whisper pressed to your ear. You squeezed him closer and laid your head on his chest, Joel’s chin resting on top of it as he held you.

“No, I mean…I do miss you, and it has been a while since we last were together, but you’re not neglecting me. You still come home and hold me and talk to me and makeout with me,” you spoke softly, your voice a soothing hum against his chest. “We’re tired people, and especially now with the baby…I didn’t expect you to be clawing my clothes off when I look like a whale—“

“Excuse me?” he snapped, pulling your head from his chest so he could sternly look into your eyes. “None’a that. You’re beautiful…carryin’ our baby. Drives me fuckin’ wild seein’ you like this. M’sorry I haven’t been energized enough to show it, but I promise you, baby…you’re drivin’ me crazy walkin’ around like this.”

His hands slipped to squeeze the globes of your ass that had grown along with your belly and hips and, well, everything else.

“Tommy’s gonna see,” you scolded in a whisper as Joel’s fingers pinched the fabric of your dress until it started to lift, allowing his hands to rest against your skin and the cotton of your panties. Weaker and breathier, you exhaled, “Or the girls.”

“I promise no one’s gonna see,” he rasped, pressing his against your neck.

“Dad, come out here quick! There’s—oh my god! There’s a scorpion!” Sarah’s high-pitched squeal had Joel rushing out into the sunroom, his teasing long forgotten as he searched the room frantically. Sarah pointed in the corner and Joel spotted it, black and bigger than any scorpion he’d seen before.

“How the hell’d you get in here?” he muttered to the insect as he guided the girls inside the house before coming inside as well to grab a cup and the dust pan.

You stood in the frame of the sliding glass door, watching him as he carefully approached the scorpion as though he was Steve Irwin approaching a crocodile.

“They don’t jump, do they?” you asked, wincing as Joel started to make contact, guiding it towards the cup. The girls were behind you as though you were a shield, both of them letting out a squeal when the scorpion tried to strike Joel’s wrist, just barely missing. “Joel, just leave it! This can just be his house now, it’s not worth it.”

“Oh, hush,” Joel barked, keeping focused on the task before him. With either skill or luck, Joel managed to sweep the ground-hog sized scorpion into the glass cup and placed the dust pan over the mouth to keep him inside. “See, I got it.”

“Dad, don’t!” Sarah got gravely serious, sternly ordering her father to remain where he was with a point of her finger. Joel grinned and continued over, making both of the girls squeal and run off through the house.

“It’s so gross,” you cringed, leaning over to look at it through the glass with extreme caution and hesitancy.

“I don’t know,” Joel lifted it to his eye level to study it. “I think he’s kinda cool lookin’. Maybe we can keep ‘em as a pet.”

“Yeah, ri-IGHT—Joel!” you shrieked in terror as he pushed the glass towards you with a bark, making you jump backwards. Joel cackled as he watched you stand with your hand over your heart, your stern eyes watching him unamused. “That wasn’t funny.”

“I thought it was,” he chuckled. You watched him walk out to the backyard and set his new friend free, your heart still thumping in your chest. “Gotta get your heart rate up every now and then.”

“I don’t think you do.” Joel laughed and walked to hold you but was stopped by your hand pushing against his chest. “No, you don’t get to touch me. I almost pissed myself!”

Joel laughed again, proud of his prank. “God, it was good.”

“I’m glad you’re satisfied. I can promise you that’s the only satisfaction you’re gonna get for a while, pal.” Joel poured immediately, following you as you walked through the house out to the front yard where Tommy, Sarah, and Jessie laid out in the grass, staring up at the sky. “Everybody, we’re shunning Joel.”

“What?” he chuckled, looking at you with amusement and affection, so rarely seeing you worked up like this.

“Sure thing,” Tommy replied, mellow and relaxed as he looked at the clouds, a beer in his hand.

“Sounds good,” Jessie agreed before pointing at the sky. “That’s a dragon.”

“Yeah it is,” Sarah agreed. “And why are we shunning dad?”

“He threw the scorpion at me.” You knew you were exaggerating, your smirk growing as you watched Joel scoff at the claim, a look of amazement on the entire time.

“I did no such thing,” he defended. “I jumped it at her—“

“Oh, that’s right. He jumped it at me,” you repeated, still smirking at him. “A pregnant woman.”

“Oh, the pregnancy card again,” Joel playfully sighed, earning a gasp from you.

“Pregnancy card? How dare you?” you laughed. “I rest my case, Sarah.”

“Alright, yeah. Dad’s shunned.” Joel rolled his eyes at you before walking over, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he sang, widening your already smitten grin. “I promise not to throw any more scorpions at ya. You forgive me now?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, melting into him.

“I ain’t shunned?” he murmured, kissing your shoulder innocently.

“No, but the threat’s always there. As you just saw, I have the votes.” Joel chuckled against your skin.

“Trust me, I know my place.”

A Week Later

It was a Friday, you’d been stuck at the house all alone, Sarah off with her dad at the site to earn her Britney Spears ticket money. After doing a few hours of nesting, marrying your things to Joel’s around the house, you perked up at the sight of Joel’s name on the caller ID of your cell.

“Hi,” you sang with a smile.

“Hey baby,” he greeted. “Was wonderin’ if you could pick me and Sarah up in about a half hour?”

“Ooo, I get you home early tonight?” Your smile turned into a grin.

“Yeah, but Sean’s havin’ a barbecue at his place. Invited the whole crew so I guess we should show up.”

“Well, I’m in.”

“See you in a little?”

“Sounds good, baby.”

You smiled as you flipped your cell shut, but the task of dressing yourself quickly wiped your grin away.

You felt like a whale in everything these days, and despite Joel’s eagerness for you each and every day, you felt like a stranger to yourself. Even in the dresses you’d been living in, you felt every change in the way your body used to fill them out. You quickly shooed the insecurity from your mind and dressed yourself for comfort before heading out to go pick the Miller’s up.

Rolling into the construction site, you spotted Joel and Sarah standing in the dirt parking lot out in front of the project, a woman in front of them talking. You furrowed your brows as you got closer, seeing that whoever this woman was, she was pretty—the kind of pretty that makes you wonder why the hell she’s here in a construction lot instead of on billboards and magazine covers.

Your chest felt tight with insecurity as you pulled up to them, hoping with all your might that Joel didn’t try to introduce you to Construction-Barbie.

“Alright, Meg. See ya at the party.” Joel waved to her as he opened the backseat for Sarah, a friendly—too friendly—smile on his face when he hopped in the passenger seat. “Hey baby,” Joel leaned forward for a kiss but you were still too jealous to oblige, giving him your cheek instead. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you lied, nodding as you pulled out of the lot, the rest of the drive silent besides the pop on the radio and Sarah's soft hums.

After giving the two of them time to change into nicer clothes, all three of you piled into the car again with Joel in the driver's seat. Sarah talked about her day at work, how cool it was to work with Meg, and how surprising it was that the newcomer managed to make her dad laugh. You tried not to picture the scene.

Joel stopped at a grocery store, running in quickly to grab some beer and a few bags of chips to bring to the party while you and Sarah remained in the car.

“Meg sounds great,” you spoke, unable to keep your jealousy to yourself.

“She’s alright,” Sarah replied, seemingly noticing your insecurity. “A little chatty.”

“Your dad didn’t seem to mind,” you mumbled, mostly to yourself.

“She was a little flirty,” Sarah replied. “But dad didn’t seem to notice.”

You tried to shake the jealousy, knowing that it was silly and hormone-driven. Joel loved you. But that didn’t mean that he still couldn’t find someone else attractive at the same time.

At the party, you kept mostly to yourself. You were introverted on a good day, but with this heavy insecurity weighing you down, you found yourself retreating inward while everyone else mingled and carried on.

You were inside the house of Joel’s lead plumber, his wife buzzing around the house as she tried to corral her five children under five. You sat in the living room, watching and praying yours didn’t come out like that—loud and disobedient and restless.

“So, how far along are you?” she asked, breathless as she gave up and sat down on the loveseat across from you.

“Six months,” you replied with a small but friendly smile. “Got any advice for me?”

She chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Besides not havin’ ‘em in the first place? I don’t know—sleep whenever you can. They’ll suck the life outta you if you let ‘em.”

“A little bleak, honey,” Sean, her husband, walked in through the patio door, Joel following behind him.

“It’s the truth,” she argued, giving him a passive aggressive sigh. “It ain’t easy. ‘Specially if there’s only one parent home to do it.”

“Alright,” he chuckled, trying to ease the tension.

You stood, ready to venture beyond the tension anf chaos of the house, even if it meant having to enter the crowded backyard.

“You comin’ out?” Joel asked, holding his hand out for you to take. You accepted it and let him walk you outside. “That was brutal in there.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. Joel’s eyes scanned you as you stood beside him, staring ahead.

“You sure you’re alright? Been awfully quiet,” he noted.

“Yeah, just…feeling a little off today,” you lied.

Spotting a familiar head of strawberry blonde curls snorting with laughter as she stood with Tommy and Sarah by the grill. They both looked comfortable around her, making your stomach curl with a new type of jealousy. She wanted your entire family.

“Joel!” she called once she caught you staring. “Come over here and join us, darlin’!”

You resented the petname. Turning to Joel, you watched as his cheeks flushed, his eyes flickering to yours.

“C’mon,” he looked to you fully, attempting to slide his hand across your back but you stopped him, swatting his arm away. “Baby,” he began, but you were already too worked up to be consoled. “She calls everybody that.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you muttered.

“Baby, you ain’t really jealous, are you?” He chuckled. Wrong move. With a furrow in your brow, you reached your hands into his pockets and tugged out the keys to the car.

“I’m going home. Call me when you wanna be picked up from your date.”

Joel called after you only once, not wanting to make a scene by raising his voice or following you out.

Back at home, you stewed. What started as hormonal territorialism quickly snowballed into justified rage. She’d clearly met your eyes, seeing you standing there beside him, and ignored you. Then, she proceeded to flirt with him right in front of you. Joel did nothing about it except for defend her, which was what you were currently most angry about.

As you aggressively turned the pages of the book you were reading to distract yourself, you were surprised to see headlights through the window. Closing your book, you got up and peeled through the blinds to see Joel and Sarah stepping out of a taxi, your cheeks heating as guilt set in. You didn’t mean for Sarah to get involved in your fight with Joel.

Hurrying upstairs, you heard the front door open, the two of them speaking downstairs but it was too faint to make any sense. As you stood in the bathroom, hurting your clothes off so that you could jump in the shower, you felt more than heard Joel’s heavy footsteps up the staircase. Soon, after you stepped into the shower, Joel found his way into the bathroom, announcing himself in the doorway.

“We’re home.” His voice was gentle, but carried a sadness to it that made you feel less angry and more guilty.

“Okay,” you managed.

“Can I come in?” he asked, the question lingering in the air for a bit before you answered.

“Yeah,” you decided.

In the matter of a few seconds, Joel was stripped and stepping in behind you, his eyes locked on yours.

“I’m sorry,” he started, stepping closer to you and the stream of water. “I told her that pet-name stuff wasn’t cool with me, but I guess she ain’t as good at listenin’ as she is talkin’.”

“She’s pretty,” you replied, desperate to keep hold of this jealousy.

“Tommy thinks so,” Joel added.

“And you?” He shook his head and rested his hands on the swell of your stomach.

“I’m too busy thinkin’ about you,” he replied. “Thinkin’ ‘bout our family.”

“I know you love me, Joel. It’s not about that,” you sighed, moving to turn around but he stopped you before you could even flinch, forcing you to look at him when you continued. “I want you to think I’m…pretty like that. To want me.”

“You don’t think I want you?” He chuckled, shaking his head in utter disbelief. “For someone who ‘doesn’t want you’, I sure seem to paw at you every minute of every day.”

“I guess you’re right,” you chuckled, finally seeing the light beyond all the dark gray that this storm of jealousy and insecurity you were caught in. “Just seeing you with someone so pretty, who does what you do—“

“First off, she’s alright. She ain’t half as good as Tommy promised me was. M’pretty sure they’re fuckin’ and that’s why he recommended her.” You laughed. “Secondly, I need you to know that it doesn’t matter who I’m standin’ next to. I’m only ever thinkin’ about the next time I get to see you.”

“You’re good at this,” you smiled, reaching to hold his face in your hands. “Defusing the bomb that is a pregnant woman’s mind.”

“You know…I think that’s the first time I ever saw you jealous,” he hummed, leaning in to press a soft, teasing kiss on your lips.

“It happens a lot, I’m just usually good at hiding it,” you whispered back, stealing a few kisses for yourself. “Think you should prepare yourself for more of this crazy. Might be this way until the baby comes.”

“I like the crazy,” he smiled.

Five years later — December 25th, 2009

“Iris, watch out—“ Your five year old daughter ran full speed through the kitchen and living room, your two year old son, Miles, clumsily chasing her with his brand new stuffed dinosaur. It was hard to be mad at either of them, their giggles filling the room along with the crunch of the wrapping paper littering the carpet beneath their feet.

“Alright,” Joel scooped both of his children up and threw them over his shoulder, earning squeals and laughter as he walked them over to the couch you were sitting on. He plopped kids onto your lap but only Miles stayed. Joel sighed and sat down beside you as Iris got up again, a mischievous grin on her face as she stood before the three of you, all eyes on her. “Well,” Joel started, lifting his hands before dropping them back onto his lap. “We paid for a show. Are you gonna sing for us, Hannah Montana?”

“Daddy, where’s the phone?” Iris asked, making a fist and then tapping it to help illustrate what she wanted.

“The microphone? Somewhere in all this mess,” you replied, gesturing to the mountain of wrapping paper on the floor. “Gotta go fishing for it, baby.”

Iris quickly got to work, making an arguably bigger mess as she searched for her brand new toy, a microphone that was supposed to be its own speaker as well, but truthfully wasn’t much louder than Iris’s voice.

“Hey, hey!” Sarah walked in the front door with a smile, two large bags in her hands stuffed full of wrapped presents. When she took in the mess, she frowned. “Ah, did you guys already do gifts?”

“Iris already had them open before we even got downstairs,” Joel replied as he walked to the door to take the bags from his now twenty year-old’s hands before giving her a tight hug. “Martin come along?”

Martin was Sarah’s boyfriend of two years, the pair meeting in her biology class freshman year of college.

“Yeah, he’s getting the bags,” Sarah replied before coming over to hug you tight.

“How are you? How’s school?” You missed having Sarah at the house but were more than proud of her for getting into the pre-med program at Stanford.

“School is school, but it’s been way easier now that we aren’t living in the dorms anymore.”

“Sissy!” Iris rushed up to her sister and waved her new Hannah Montana microphone in her face. “Sing with me.”

“Oh…yay,” Sarah forced a smile but looked to you for help.

“How about we open the gifts sissy brought instead?” you proposed and your daughter instantly agreed.

“How was the drive?” Joel spoke to Martin as he helped him carry the bags upstairs to Sarah’s old bedroom.

“Not too bad. Sarah snored the entire way.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. Think she gets it from me.”

When Joel and Martin returned from the second floor, they immediately found their spots beside their partners, each of them making the same pained groan as they sat down.

“God,” you chuckled, looking to Sarah who was already looking at you. “They’re the same person.”

“Gross. Hate that.”

“You gonna pass out the gifts or what?” Joel asked, unamused by the comparison.

As Sarah and Martin sorted out the gifts, handing a few to Iris, a few to Miles, two to you and one to Joel. Joel shook his head at the box handed to him, but Sarah’s round eyes got her her way every single time.

“Told you no gifts for me,” Joel grumbled as he ripped the wrapping. “Don’t want you spendin’ your money—“

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she smiled, sitting down beside her boyfriend. “I think you’ll like this one. It’s a gift for everybody, but I think you’re going to have the most fun with it.”

You watched him rather than opening your own gifts, the small black box in his hand opening to reveal a key. Joel looked up with boyish eyes, shocked and excited and near tears all at the same time.

“What is it?” you asked, plucking the key from his hand.

“This ain’t—how—what?” Joel spoke through his shock.

“What’s it a key to?” you asked again, chuckling at the tears welling up in your husband’s eyes.

“My parents used to own this beat up old ranch in San Antonio, but had to sell it off when Sarah was a kid. I always wanted to buy it back and fix it up, but I just…never got around to it,” Joel finally replied to your questioning, turning to you with wet eyes and a big smile before looking at his daughter and her boyfriend. “How did—“

“My dad’s a realtor and knew the guy who was selling it, so Sarah and I put our money together to buy it back,” Martin detailed.

“In your name, so don’t get too excited. Mortgage isn’t gonna be that bad because we got it at twenty thousand and we put down a decent down payment,” Sarah added. “So, just a few hundred a month.”

“Baby girl,” Joel shook his head and looked down at the key. “How much do I owe y’all—“

“Dad, you took care of me my whole life. You deserve this. Besides, I just signed with a publisher for my book, so—“

“What?” you practically squealed, Miles covering his ears as he sat in your lap. “Congrats, baby girl!”

“Thank you, thank you,” she smiled and bowed, bringing your eyes to the shining rock on her ring finger. Joel seemingly noticed it too because his clapping suddenly ceased.

“What’s that?” he asked, his eyes shifting to Martin’s nervous stare.

“Shit—we were gonna announce it at dinner so Uncle Tommy could be here too, but…” She looked to her boyfriend. “We’re engaged.”

“Oh my god,” you gasped, your hands lifting to your mouth to hide the joy in your smile. “I’m so happy. Oh my god!”

“That’s bad, mommy,” Iris scolded. You nodded but pointed at Sarah’s ring.

“I known, but sissy’s getting married, baby!”

“Dad?” Sarah spoke to her father who sat frozen in shock. You turned to him as well, studying him carefully for any signs of anger or disappointment, but instead found only pride and joy. “Please don’t be mad. Martin wanted to ask first but I told him that’s too old school—“

“Baby, I’m not mad,” he assured softly, shaking his head as his eyes welled with fresh tears. “I’m just so happy.”

“Oh, dad,” Sarah cooed, her own eyes shedding tears as she walked over to hug her father close as he stood up. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, baby girl. So much.” Joel squeezed her once more before letting her go and turning to her fiancé. “And you too by proxy.”

After a long afternoon spent beside Joel at the computer studying the state of the ranch from the pictures Martin pulled up from the realtor, it was decided that Joel would take weekends off of work—not that he usually worked them anymore, the business having taken off so much that it forced him into a more managerial role—and drive down to the ranch to work on it, the kids and you invited of course but he understood if you didn’t want to, after all, “It ain’t gonna be pretty for a while, baby”. You agreed to let him check it out in person first before coming along because it seemed a little too dangerous for the kids with the property’s long, unmowed yard and old, untouched cabin.

Dinnertime came and so did Tommy and his girlfriend of one year—who also happened to be your good friend and a successful attorney—Maria, the two of them walking into a cleaner home than the one Sarah and Martin were greeted with. She had a six year old son, Kevin, who loved to play with your babies every time he came over.

“No fuckin’ way,” Tommy held up Sarah’s left hand to stare at the ring. “You were just a snot-nosed kid a second ago.”

“Yep,” she giggled.

“Well,” Tommy dropped her hand and looked to Martin, giving him a handshake. “You know who you’re gonna answer to if you hurt her.”

“Alright,” Joel interjected as he returned to the kitchen table that the adults were sat at while the kids played in the living room, The Grinch on in the background to busy them even more. He set a bottle of beer down in front of each of you, but Marin was quick to slide her bottle away from her. “No? And I bought the good shit just to impress y’all.”

“It’s just…” She looked to Tommy for help, the younger Miller smirking as he turned to the table.

“We’re havin’ a baby,” he announced and the table roared with applause and cheers. Joel’s smile was the widest, the two brothers locking eyes. Joel lifted his beer up to toast to life and the rest of you gladly clinked your bottles together in agreement. To life, indeed.

March, 2010

“So,” Joel started, a proud but nervous grin on his face as you climbed out of the passenger seat of the car to get a good look at the ranch. “What d’ya think?”

The long, unmowed grass was now trimmed neatly, making the land look so much bigger. Joel had fixed the gate, but you noticed that when he pulled in; he made sure to have a sign placed at the entrance reading “Miller Ranch” to properly fulfill his lifelong dream. The old, rickety cabin was now renovated and converted into a private den in case Sarah and Martin ever wanted to come stay for a while. Beside it stood a brand new ranch house, modest in size compared to the surrounding ranches, but it was big enough to hold three bedrooms, two baths, a kitchen, and a living room. But the part you loved most was the wrap-around porch he built by hand, painted a soft, pale yellow to contrast to the white of the home.

“I think,” you started, a smile growing on your face. “I wanna live here now.”

“Yeah?” he chuckled and approached you at the passenger side door, pressing you against it. “Why don’t we go inside? Maybe…test it out.”

“Mm, might as well take advantage of Tommy and Maria watching the kids,” you replied, your lips ghosting over his.

Joel tugged you along by the hand up the gravel driveway, allowing you the time to admire the little details like the swing he built onto the big oak tree between the den and the house, or the sneak peek you caught of rose bushes in the backyard. With each detail, you fell more and more in love with the property, and what was once a joke now turned into a serious longing—you wanted to move here. Bad.

“Ready?” Joel asked as he opened the screen door and rested his hand on the doorknob of the main, wooden door painted that same, soft yellow. You nodded at him and he opened the house, letting you walk in first, he flipped on the lights behind you as he entered. You gasped at the living room, how spacious but cozy it felt with a fireplace built in, not that the San Antonio weather ever really called for it.

Turning to the other side, you saw the dining room that connected into the kitchen via a square archway. You started that way, admiring the hand-made dining table before walking into the kitchen of your dreams. You let out a moan at the size of it, the brand new appliances that were a surprise but don’t worry, they’re on a lease.

Back in the hall, you carried on, admiring the framed pictures he’d hung of your joined family over the years, the smiling image of Sarah’s mother and Mary and Paul and everyone you’d lost bringing tears to your eyes.

“This is gonna be Miles’ room,” Joel opened the door to a room set up for a kid rather than a toddler aside from the bed with safety rails on it. You smiled at the thought of your son growing up here.

“And this?” you reached for the door across the hall and opened it to find a bathroom, modest but new.

“Kids bath,” he replied. Guiding you to the room beside Miles’, Joel opened it and displayed a soft pink painted bedroom that Iris was going to absolutely adore. “For baby girl.”

“Which means this has to be our room, right?” you asked, reaching for the door across from your daughter's room. “Little close, no?”

“Mm-mm,” he shook his head and entered the room, shutting the door behind him. He made a lot of noise, or at least that’s what you assumed from his heavy feet jumping on the hardwood floors, but you couldn’t hear much of anything. When he emerged, he was breathless and smiling. “Hear anything?”

“Felt you jumping around, but no,” you grinned. “You soundproofed it?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Took me a while to get it right but…we can make all the noise we want now.”

“Well,” you began, sliding your hands up his chest as you batted your eyes at him. “Why don’t we give it a proper go?”

“Yeah,” he hummed, leaning down to kiss you teasingly, forcing you to seek more of his mouth in yours. “Come on,” he rasped, tugging you into the bedroom. “There’s one more surprise on the tour before I can get you naked. Go take a look in the bathroom.”

You did as you were told, leaving him by the bed to walk into the en-suite. You gasped at the clawfoot tub perched by a large bay window, looking out at the garden of flowers he’d planted.

“Joel…you—“ You shook your head, eyes now raining tears as you stood in the middle of the bathroom. Joel laughed and came over to hold you as you buried your face in his chest. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, baby,” he chuckled, amused by your reaction. “You like it, I take it?”

“Like it?” you lifted your head and shocked him with the amount of tears soaking your eyes. “I’m about to get down on my knees.”

“You can get down on your knees after I get my fill, how about that?” he husked against your cheek as he kissed your tears. “Go lay down on the bed, baby. Everything off.”

You didn’t waste any time in obeying, practically skipping out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Your shoes and jeans came off first, then your top, and finally your undergarments before you climbed onto the mattress to test it out. Joel walked in but remained patient at the foot of the bed as you laid in the center of the mattress, beckoning him closer with the curl of your finger. Joel grinned and peeled his t-shirt off before slowly, painfully slowly, undoing his belt and jeans.

“Roll over,” he commanded. “Wanna see somethin’.”

“I wonder, what ever could that be?” you joked, rolling onto your stomach and instinctively arching your ass into the air. Joel’s knees dipped the mattress as he crawled onto the bed behind you, his hands gripping the globes of your ass as he let out a groan.

“So pretty like this,” he hummed before surprising you with a broad lick up the seam of your cunt. “My country girl.”

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be, just don’t stop.” Joel laughed at your plea but obliged, licking you again. He kept at it, his tongue greedily and filthily lapping up every inch of you it could find before tensing and burying into your cunt while his fingers rubbed circles over your clit.

“Mm,” he hummed as he pulled away for a moment to speak. “There’s a gift for you in the nightstand. Why don’t you have a look?”

You chuckled hesitantly and crawled over the mattress to reach into the nightstand on your side of the bed, finding a long black box inside. You pulled it out and turned over to sit, facing Joel as he sat on his ankles at the foot of the bed. “Open it.”

“Is this—“ You silenced yourself by opening the box, your eyes taking in the sight of one of those wands you’d been desperately dropping hints about wanting to try out. “Oh, baby. You’ve got competition now.”

“Oh, do I?” he smirked, crawling to lay over you, forcing your head to rest back against the pillows. “That’s alright. Gettin’ too old to do all that work anyways. Might as well take all the help I can get.”

“You know you’ll always have one thing no one else has,” you purred, reaching to stroke his cock as it rested on your belly. “They couldn’t replicate this if they tried.”

“Mm,” he smiled against you. “You’re just flatterin’ me now.”

“Uh-uh,” you shook your head. “It’s perfect. The way you fill me up, the way it feels inside. I’ll never get enough.”

“Fuck, baby,” he whined against your jaw as he nibbled there. “Turn it on, wanna get you ready to take me. So damn hard for you, can’t even think.”

You flipped on the vibrator, gasping at the power behind it while Joel simply groaned.

“Go on,” he urged. “Press it to your clit, baby.”

“Fuck,” you hissed as you lowered it to your bundle of nerves, the whir of the vibrations making your thighs tense and jerk, but Joel’s hips stopped them from closing.

“Does it feel good?” he asked against your pulse as he kissed the skin there.

“Yes,” you panted. “But I want you.”

“Not ‘til you cum,” he replied, trailing his fingers down your belly, past the vibrator, and into your soaked entrance. You let out an animalistic moan, something primal and so unlike yourself. “God, baby,” he moaned against you as he curled his fingers up towards that dizzying spot inside. “You don’t make those noises for me. Maybe I do got competition.”

“Joel,” you whined, unsure of what to say or how to describe how good it felt to have him inside you along with this gift of an invention. “Please. Please.”

“Cum on my fingers,” he ordered, low and dark and right into your ear. “Then I’ll give you what you want.”

As if your body had simply been awaiting the order, you came immediately, squeezing him as you writhed beneath his weight, the vibrator turned off and tossed across the bed. Joel slid into you while you were still clenching around nothing, your breath getting knocked out of your lungs at the force of his thrusts inside. You felt like you transcended into some sinful sort of heaven, one where only you and Joel resided.

“God, baby,” he whined, his arms slid beneath the arch of your back to hug you tight as he pounded into you. “So fuckin’ wet. God, I need to cum. Been too long.”

“Those fuckin’ kids,” you managed a joke, earning a laugh before he found his rhythm again.

“Baby, fuck,” he warned, his voice as wrecked as yours as you screamed his name into the empty home, your nails scratching down his back as you begged him to let you cum again, as if he ever denied you. “Go on,” he urged, sitting up on his knees to watch his cock disappear into you only to come out covered in your shine. “Fuck, come on. Cum for me. Right fuckin’ now, baby.”

“Oh!” you screamed, again unlike yourself, and clawed at his arms for purchase as your orgasm hit so hard it might have been painful if it hadn’t felt so fucking good. “Joel, please, please, please. Cum inside me.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his face scrunched up as he watched himself let go into your pussy, his eyes glued to where you were connected while pulsed inside of you with a deep growl. When he pulled out, he quickly lowered himself to the mattress and nestled between your thighs, fucking his spend back into you with his finger while his tongue swiped round and round over your clit until you were begging him to stop. “Too much?”

“For now,” you grinned. “How much longer do we have until we have to get back on the road?”

“I’d say a couple hours,” he replied, sated but a hint of mischief in his voice. “We could always try out that new bath.”

“God, I love you.” You pulled him up and kissed deeply. “So glad you showed up to that parent teacher conference.”

“Thank you for givin’ Sarah and I a family again,” he whispered. “I love you so much, baby. I—gonna get me all choked up. I love you.”

“I love you.”

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[inmyheaddd]

grayson hawthorne childhood best friends to lovers part 2

part 1

when you’re actually together:

grayson would always wish he told you about his feelings earlier, and in a more organized manner (i mean ofc, control freak)

hes not one for social media, but when you told him you were going to start posting book reviews on instagram and tiktok, he immediately downloaded them. he still watched your 2 minute long videos even when you’d talk to him about your books for hours on end

you tried to convince him to get pinterest, he agreed begrudgingly and basically never uses it

the only times he does use it is for looking surprise gifts for you by looking at your boards and seeing what you like (and potentially engagement rings)

there is never a such thing as a boring date with grayson. 

your first official date took the entirety of the whole day: first, you went on a drive, playing your joined playlist, to be met with a private hot air balloon ride above from the countryside to the city.

he knew you, and one thing about you is you could never pick between the countryside and the city. why not see both?

after that, you went to an art museum. to some this may seem boring, but you had a deep interest in art and such things. this was definitely top 5 places in your book. 

grayson knew you had a long forgotten knack for pottery, so when you realized he booked a pottery class - except it was just you two- you were elated to say the least 

he made a vase - simple, nothing special, because he was too occupied with you next to him, stealing glances and snapping photos whenever he could. 

you also made a vase, more detailed than his, with you and graysons initials on the bottom encircled within a heart.  

you took graysons vase home, and he took yours home. he’d have your favorite flowers in his room, and you’d have the flowers he’d send you every week in yours.

after the pottery class, it was just about to be sunset. grayson had planned this day perfectly. he was perfect

you had a picnic and watched the sunset, and then stargazed whilst you lay down, your head in his lap

the familiarity of the picnic brought you back to the first one you had with him.

“do you remember that first picnic we had?” you asked him, turning your head to look up at him. 

“of course i do, you were brilliant in that project, we celebrated accordingly” he looked down at you with a small smile 

“you were brilliant, i would’ve failed if it wasnt for you.”

“i know you, you were perfectly capable of getting 100 by yourself.” he looks up away from you, to the sky, and tilts his head as if he’s made a new discovery “actually, i’m pretty sure you just called me because you had a crush on me.”

you sit up and fake scoff trying to stifle a laugh, which grayson sees right through. the only thing registering in his brain is your smile, your laugh, your eyes, just you.

“oh you’re pretty sure?” you ask

“i’m definitely sure”

okay that may have been” you say the next part quietly, “part, of the reason” your voice picks up, “but i actually needed major help!” 

“yeah well, im glad you did. i would’ve never gotten the courage to speak to you myself. my brain was a fog, you gave me clarity.” he said, his tone suddenly much more serious and heartfelt

you picked up on the fact that grayson has some what of abandonment issues, stemming from his mom, dad, which just kept branching onwards. 

“grayson” you almost whisper, looking into his eyes “i love you.” 

“i love you” he says, and in your eyes, he’s the only person to ever exist. 

grayson raised your standards in ways no one could ever compare to, which no one ever will, because you two are forever.

grayson is not one for pda, you caught on that very quick as you noticed your dates usually include him buying out a whole place so it’s just you two. 

however, he always has an arm around you, whether it’s on your waist, your hand, or your shoulders.

he’s not one to get jealous easily, he knows you love him, and he trusts you. (and he knows that these other men can’t compare.)

but he’s never afraid to show who he is, and where he stands. standing to his full height, steady voice, arm around you. 

you swear he just gets hotter each time he does that

if for some reason he’s not around, you’re always mentioning him

“oh yeah my boyfriend grayson loves that” “that’s crazy my boyfriend also does that!” “grayson thinks the same” “me and grayson….”

whenever an event finishes and it’s just you attending, grayson always hears back from people how much you mention him, he doesn’t show it but he’s jumping up and down mentally

eventually at 19 and 21, two years of your relationship, you got an apartment together! 

you even added some elements from that one project 5 years ago

looking back, you like to think of it as preparation for your first real one with him

grayson is such a dog person, and you honestly just love all animals, you feel bad if you pick just one 

you both agreed on a golden retriever. graysons first choice was a husky, rottweiler, or a german shepard to protect the house if he’s not there, or if you’re both sleeping. 

you love grayson, and you know his choice of dogs were very fitting to him, but you politely disagreed. 

you ended up naming your golden retriever named biscuit - him and tiramisu are best friends. 

grayson adores him, and is endlessly thankful that you ended up getting a golden retriever instead of one of the dogs he suggested

he spoils the dog like crazy, always designer collars and the best food possible for the dogs, raw meat, and the most engaging/ best toys possible for the dog and its health

grayson literally researches anything before he gets it for the dog

on the topic of spoiling, he spoils you ROTTEN

as established before, he goes through your pinterest for surprise gifts 

but every time you mention a single thing, a new book, a perfume, some random lipgloss, you best believe the next day you have it

one time you looked at a specific dress a few seconds too long when shopping with him, but didn’t get it.  

the next day, you see it hanging in your closet. to say you were shocked was an understatement.

he knows all the stuff you like, so if an artist you enjoy comes out with anything new, tour tickets, vinyls, cds, literally anything, he’s the first to get it just for you.

he absolutely adores you through and through 

you the same for him, but in the very back of his mind he’s afraid someday you’ll get tired of him, think he’s too much, and just leave.

that part disappears whenever he sees you again and he’s brought back to reality.

he wants to marry you someday - preferably as soon as possible

he went through your wedding pinterest board and lowkey already started planning / seeing how you two would set it up.

he’s in the process of making a scrap book full of things from your childhood together up until now, and will continue until your wedding.

xander would so be the best man, and his speech would have everyone laughing and crying at the same time

jameson and xander say without them you two wouldn’t be together

nash says that that’s not true, you two are inevitable.

you think in every universe you two would’ve found eachother.

grayson thinks he’s insanely lucky to have you.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

In the middle of the night

requested: was thinking about an azrielxreader where reader feyre and nesta are all in the house of wind or wherever, and it gets attacked whilst the boys are away, i love the idea of just angst from eveyone because they are all worried for their mates and eachother, but also girl power because we all know reader feyre and nesta are capable of handling themselves. So something along the lines of angst comfort and badass faes.

Azriel x reader

warning: fighting, blood, mention of drugs

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Do you seriously need to take all of these books with you?", Azriel groaned from the other side of the room, where he was trying to juggle all the novels, book series, romances, and whatnot in his hands. While you were still digging through the bookshelves that your partner had lovingly made for you as a gift for your latest birthday, still trying to find additional ones.

"Well, yes. I promised the girls to share with them what I liked, and this is what I liked." Azriel rolled his eyes, not understanding how you could like everything that you read. But deep down, he loved seeing you so passionately interested in something. Even if at times he didn't understand what Eric did to Margaret and why it had you so worked up. But he listened to you ramble about different stories regardless. Never getting enough of how your eyes would go wide in excitement when he remembered your favorite character's name or greeted you with one of those "So, did Eric solve the mystery?"

Yet the pile in front of him seemed ridiculously big, especially for a one-night reading party. "I don't see a point in carrying all of these for tonight and then returning the", Azriel said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm sorry, is it too heavy for you to hold, my dear?" You gave him one of your famous looks that told him straight away that he wasn't going to win this fight. So he turned to look for a box he could place all of the books into.

It was an exciting evening and a day ahead. After a long while, you convinced all of the boys to go out and have a night for themselves. The workload had been insane lately. They had all been way too worked up and cranky, so you three, being the best wives and girlfriends that you were, organized a little get-together. Going all out and beyond to stack up and prepare a little cabin in the mountains for them. So they could just get drunk and forget that they have any responsibilities, at least for a day. Were they happy about it? No. But did you ask them what they thought? Also, no. Rhys was the one who got on board with the idea first, and that was enough to convince the other two.

You felt two hands slip down your lower belly before Azriel tugged you closer to his chest. "I don't want to go," the shadow singer said, "Oh, stop it. If you don't take a break, you'll all die from cardiac arrest," you stated, turning into your lover's embrace and moving to face him.

"I'm fine with resting; I just don't want to leave you alone," Azriel admitted quietly. You two were the only ones freshly mated out of the bunch. It hadn't even been a year, and Azriel had no interest in letting the mating frenzy end just yet. He was extremely alert when you were surrounded by strangers. When he went on longer missions, he always left Cassian or Rhys with you, and even then, he was irritated that they were showing you love and caring for you because it was his responsibility to do so.

"I will be fine. We all will be fine", you gently pressed your palm to his cheek, "I won't close off the bond at any time of the day just like we agreed. Even if I think that you should take a break from worrying about me as well," you said. But the shadow singer only shook his head before bringing you even closer to him, "What you're suggesting now is offensive," both of you broke into a giggle, and you just let him hold you for a little while longer.

You two walked hand in hand into the river house. Feyre was sitting on Rhys's lap as the two of them beamed at one another. You couldn't help but smile to yourself. Seeing your friends so in love always made you feel giddy. "And I thought we'd be last to come," Azriel said when he didn't see Cassian anywhere. Feyre was already up and running to you as you two embraced one another, leaving Rhys to sulk over the loss of contact with his mate.

"You two are last. Cass and Ness are upstairs," Rhys said, throwing his head back before you all took a moment to listen. The skin-on-skin slapping and moans. Yep, they were going for it up there. You let out a giggle before biting your lip. "Let them be; it's a miracle if Cass will last a day without that in the first place." Everyone joined in on the laugh before you all nestled in to cuddle with your loved ones.

When they finally made their way down. With hair poking everywhere and Cassian's shirt missing a couple of buttons, you gently moved to hold Az's hand as if silently begging him not to comment on this. But of course, he and Rhys erupted in howls and shouts, leaving you girls to shake your heads.

"I think we should go before I drag my darling upstairs as well," Rhys wiggled his eyes at Feyre. "Okay, you horny bats, off you fly; I don't want to see any of you here till tomorrow night," you pointed your finger at all of them, pushing the males out the doors. With a last kiss to their partners, Rhys and Cass stepped outside, leaving Azriel still holding onto you.

"Your last chance to tell me that you want me to stay and not leave you", Azriel said cupping your face between his hands, "You wish, go get drunk and have fun", you kissed him and Azriel made sure to deepen the kiss immediately. "Enough, lover boy," Rhys said as he drew Azriel away from you, Cassian clutching the other side of your lover.

With the busybodies gone, you girls moved to make some food before bringing it up to the library, where Feyre had already prepared a little blanket fort for you three. Knowing full well that you were going to read and talk until the early hours of the morning anyway.

"So... how are you two?" You've been sipping on wine for a couple of hours now. Azriel like the loving boyfriend he was, let you know the first thing that they had made it to the cabin safely, followed by at least a couple of I love you's. You hummed, taking another sip, "I think we found a place we want to move into", both females gasped, waiting for you to continue. You have been living in a house of wind ever since you officially started dating. The place was lovely, and you appreciated Rhys's generosity, but it still wasn't your home. So you and Azriel had looked at more than one house that was for sale in the city, but nothing spoke to you. Not until you found a rather small but cozy house, a bit more hidden between the rocky hills and further away from the city chaos.

"It will need some renovations, but Azriel said all my visions are doable", Nesta let out a chuckle at your words, "As if that male won't bring you the moon if you asked him to". A blush ran down your face. It was true. Azriel was the most attentive lover. Most of the time, you didn't even need to tell him what was on your mind; he already knew. Quickly pulling on the golden thread, you sent some love down the bond, and not even a heartbeat later, Azriel did just the same, making you grin into the glass.

You were woken up by a sound coming from downstairs. Nesta's head was laying on your shoulder, so you tried to move as little as possible as you listened on. For a while, nothing happened, so you closed your eyes, ready to once again slip into a blissful sleep, but then a sound of shattering glass rang through the empty corridors. You instantly sat up, and Nesta snarled from beside you, but you shushed her.

Muffled voices came next, and now Nesta was nudging Feyre awake as you leaned over your shoulder to pull the dagger Azriel gave you out of its leather case. "That's a first," Nesta muttered. "Do we have a clue who that might be?" you asked, pushing the blanket off your body.

"I doubt it's the boys", "No, Azriel would not leave me in the dark if they decided to come back", the noises grew louder, and you motioned for Nesta to kill the fire in the fireplace. For a split second, you wondered if you should alert your lover. But that thought was cut short as the door to the library burst open, and a handful of males armed from head to toe stepped in.

Everything that followed next was a mess. Nesta threw the first punch, and you swung the dagger through the first male's neck. It was all fun and games until Feyre realized that she couldn't access her magic. You three had run for the stairs in hopes of reaching Rhysand's office, where most of the weapons were held.

"I knew something about the wine was dodgy," she muttered as she sank to the floor. You pulled at her hand, but when Nesta also stumbled to the side and the banging on the door intensified, you did the most logical thing you could.

"Azriel...," you called through the bond, letting the panic flow freely. A cold shiver ran down your spine when you didn't get a response. When an ax pierced through the door, you knew that you needed to act fast. Pushing at the invisible door in the wall, you dragged both Feyre and Nesta into the room before closing it behind them. Someone had to stay and slow the intruders down.

Ripping a dagger from the wall, you braced your steps, saying a final prayer before the ax ripped half of the door out of the wall. Calm and collected, just like Azriel taught you. But before anything could happen you heard Azriel's voice in your head, "Love?", "No time now, someone broke into the house girls are drugged", that's all you managed to say before a dagger was thrown at you, and it was your time to protect the ones you loved.

Azriel hoped it was just a nightmare, but the panic he felt on your side was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Jumping up, he ran to shake Rhysand and Cassian awake.

"You asshole, I was having a good dream", but Az only dragged Rhys up by the material of his shirt, "Someone's at the house, they are in danger". It was as if all the alcohol had vanished from their system in a second, and Rhys was winnowing them back to the house.

This was their biggest and scariest nightmare: not being there when their mates needed them the most. Numerous thoughts ran through their heads. From who was stupid enough to make a move like this to whom they were going to kill slowly and with no mercy. But at the same time, it wasn't just their mates they were worried for. There were three females alone in the house, and even if you three could stand your ground... No, the thought of any kind of danger threatening your safety was sickening.

They ran through the house, one after another. And the blood that led from the library towards the stairs made all three of them feel unwell inside.

"They are in the office; I can feel Y/N there," Azriel said quietly before sprinting for the staircase. When the unfamiliar figures came into sight, Azriel didn't care who the intruders were. His primal instinct to protect you was the only one at the center of his mind. He sliced through them like a hot knife through butter.

Cassian slid through the room to disarm one of the males who had lifted a sword to stab you, "Think again fucker", the male only got to take another breath in before collapsing to the floor, "You're okay?", it was Rhys who also turned his attention to you. You nodded your head as you watched Azriel go completely crazy at the other side of the room. "Sit in the corner over there; you're safe now. We'll deal with this."

The rest of the fight looked more like a blur. Rhys only left one of the intruders alive for interrogations later on. You felt two familiar hands sliding down your knee, and you lifted your head. Azriel's face and body were stained with blood, but you didn't care as you wrapped your arms around him, holding onto your lover tighter.

"I locked the girls in the secret room," you muttered to two other males, who swiftly moved to the said place before the other two voices filled your ears. They were responsive and, most importantly, alive. You felt a weight slip from your shoulders as you let out a shaky breath. Azriel hosted you on his lap. Your legs steadied him as he rocked you two back and forth.

"Why didn't you call right away?", he asked after a moment, "I don't know... I just thought it wasn't that serious at first." Azriel pulled away slightly, once again scanning your face for any signs of injury. "Next time something gives you even the slightest fright, you reach for me straight away," the shadow singer stated firmly. You nodded slowly. Not feeling the need to act like a big girl now. So you reached for him again, resting your head on Azriel's shoulder.

-----

All acotar writing: @brekkershadowsinger @cityofidek

[genshin-impacted]

Exchange of Rings

(Alhaitham x Reader - 4/?) 

It was only a matter of time until you and Alhaitham begin to affect each other-- in a good way. OR disagreements + touch + groceries + sleep

Word Count: ~3.9k

Notes: afab!reader, second person pov “you”, gn!reader, switches pov with Alhaitham, modern au, arranged marriage, fall first/fall harder, slow burn

[Previous - Next]

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You like to say you're an open person. Open-minded, open-hearted, but open about yourself? Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that you are honest about what you think, though definitely not as honest as Alhaitham. 

He definitely does not soften the blow for anyone, even for you– or so you think until you hear just how blunt and abrasive Alhaitham can be when he receives a phone call from work on the weekend. ("Do not call me again." “But-” “Goodbye.”) You never realized it was possible to talk to someone at work like that, but you think maybe Alhaitham’s got something right with how clearly he sets his boundaries. 

In comparison to that, his words to you are more like… flicks on the forehead. It makes you cringe, maybe yelp if you're sensitive, but otherwise they're harmless. The forehead flick is also a reminder of the greater force Alhaitham is capable of so you take his mercy in stride. 

It's not as though you're prone to being chastised by Alhaitham, but you're not a perfect human being. Sometimes you forget that you put laundry in the washing machine or that the heater is still on when you leave the apartment. And you know you're unused to being scolded because every time he needs to, it comes as a surprise to you, and you don’t think you’ll ever see it coming. 

You do notice eventually that when Alhaitham needs to tell you something, he stands in front of you regardless of what you're doing and says your name tonelessly, though you feel unprepared each time it happens. In your defense, Alhaitham's tone of voice has never had variety. He also says your name like that when he asks you what you want for dinner or if you want him to leave the lights on for you when he goes to bed.

You wish you could say the scolding goes both ways in equal frequency, but Alhaitham is extremely organized and conscientious, so you never have much chance to tell him anything. He always washes the dishes after he eats, clears the table without asking, and does his chores when it's due. You do think he tends to leave his books laying around when he's done with them, but that's a habit you don't mind much. It's even a little fun for you to figure out which books he finished and where: the neuroscience book at his bed, the finance book at the dining table, the biography at the kitchen counter. You did have to tell him off about that last one, mainly because you wouldn't want it to get splashed with oil or food if it's left there. 

That's also the thing with Alhaitham. You only need to tell him once and he will remember and do it– if he finds it reasonable, of course. You never find another book in the kitchen or on the dining table, just stacks of books on the living room table. But even that gets cleaned up when you bring over snacks for the both of you to munch on as you watch TV and he reads. It's apparent to you that Alhaitham doesn't want his books to get dirty, so it all works out in the end.

It's usually never the small household things, but you remember you did have to talk to him about how to handle the landlord and the neighbors. As much as he doesn't care about what others think of him, you do. Especially when you want to leave a good impression on the landlord so they're more willing to help out or need to ask the neighbors for a cup of sugar. No matter how annoying they can be, you don't like to burn bridges, and perhaps that is the biggest difference between you and Alhaitham. 

Thankfully, when you tell him how you feel, he takes it in stride. You must have looked as surprised as you felt because he sighs at your expression. "You gave a logical reason," Alhaitham says, "so I concede. I'll be… cordial with the neighbors."

"You can tell them off if they play disco music again at 3am," you say, warmth swirling in your chest with the knowledge that Alhaitham listens to you. "Nothing against disco, of course."

"Of course," he says with dry amusement. "They're manageable. But if the landlord tries to check up on us after 10PM again-" 

"It's because you have such an early bedtime," you tease. The deadpan (read: grumpy) stare you get from Alhaitham makes you laugh. "But yeah, you can let him have it. As long as we don't get evicted."

"Has it come to mind that maybe you just stay up too late?" Alhaitham scoffs and you just smile sheepishly at him. "If they even try to wrongfully evict us, I'll have Cyno involved," he says, strangely ominous. "And believe me when I say that's the last thing any of us want."

When you ask about Cyno, Alhaitham gives you a short answer of “coworker” and leaves it at that. He would have moved on without any elaboration had you not reeled him back and asked follow-up questions.

What’s his role in the company? Attorney. 

Is he a good attorney? He gets his job done. 

Are you guys friends? gets you a blank stare that you give right back until Alhaitham responds with a “most likely.” He ignores your look of confusion and finishes his plate of salmon. 

Alhaitham is honest but he isn’t the most forthcoming with information about his life unless you ask. So, you suppose neither of you are very open.

You think the closest you get is how open you are about showering affection unto other people. When you like someone, whether it's platonic or romantic, it's hard not to show it through proximity. And you like Alhaitham a lot, so you teeter the line of being close to him at all times and giving him the space to actually breathe. You compromise by patting Alhaitham on the back when you pass by, peering over his shoulder to look at what he's cooking, or scooting closer to him on the couch so the two of you can share the blanket. 

You’re careful to gauge his reaction. If he shows any sign of disliking it, it would break your heart, but you would also respectfully keep your distance. Luckily enough for you, Alhaitham doesn’t bat an eye at your attempts to be close to him, so you lean over until you’re shoulder to shoulder to show him the latest funny and/or informational video you’ve found scrolling on your phone. Like clockwork, Alhaitham turns his head to look at your phone as you press the play button.

“It’s feng shui,” you tell him. You want to go into more detail, but you think the man in the video exuberantly helping other people rearrange their furniture is the only explanation Alhaitham will need. For most funny videos–if he happens to find them funny–you get to hear a huff of laughter from him. For the more informational videos, it either ends with a short “interesting” or starts an entirely new discussion between the two of you about the clip's content or something related. When the video ends you look at Alhaitham expectantly, and without fail, he provides you with a response. 

“Is this why you bought that potted plant the other day?” Alhaitham asks when the video begins to loop again, and you smile at him sheepishly.

“Well, no,” you say, “I actually just wanted to spruce up the living room a little bit, but!” You scroll through your phone. “I think there’s a video that talks about filling in the space with certain plants for good luck, so maybe I got the right sort of plant in the end.” 

There’s that huff of laughter, and you smile at your phone, heart fluttering at the thought of making him laugh. Your arm shifts against his as you continue to watch other videos, and he does not move away even as he uses his hand to flip his book to the next page. Having this knowledge makes you beam, but you taper it down just in case Alhaitham can see how lovestruck you are. 

And that’s how you know you’re not ‘open’, per say. You leave lingering touches on Alhaitham, seek his company and approval, but not once have you told him how much you like him. You’re conflicted about it, but no matter how open you have been about your feelings on anything else, with Alhaitham, there’s so much more to think about. Would he be okay with how you feel about him? Would he return your feelings? Does it matter if he returns your feelings now, as rapidly developing as they are? Alhaitham makes your heart flutter, your stomach flip, and your brain blank. But not for too long, luckily; Alhaitham would notice if you took a long time to answer his question and notice how you stare dreamily at him when he isn’t looking.

So you decide not to open that can of worms. For now. All you know now is that being with him makes you light, that every time he reciprocates your energy, you feel as though embers are sifting in your chest. 

It’s 2AM when you rub your eyes, sleep finally catching up to you. Alhaitham had gone to bed a few hours ago, bidding you goodnight and warning you to stop staying up so late if you really don’t want those eyebags you always complain about. It’s about a few hours past a healthy bedtime, but you suppose it’s better late than never when you close your laptop and head to the bathroom for your nightly routine. You’re quiet as you go through your toiletries, careful not to wake Alhaitham up with the noise, though the toilet flushing is out of your control.

You tiptoe into your shared bedroom a few minutes after, your eyes adjusting just enough in the dark to see where the blanket has been folded to lift and put yourself under. To your surprise, you hear Alhaitham shift the same time you do, turning his body so that it faces the center of the bed. You can’t see his eyes in the dark, but you think you can feel his gaze.

“Sorry,” you whisper, “did I wake you?”

“...No,” he says, just as quietly. You try not to melt at the softness of his voice in the covers of the dark. “I was still awake.”

“Couldn’t sleep?” You ask sympathetically, tucking yourself under the blankets and turning to face him. 

A sigh. “Unfortunately, no.” 

“Did you want to try taking something to help you sleep?”

“No, I usually don’t have any problems-” Alhaitham stops, and you wait for him to speak again, the only sounds in the bedroom are your shared breaths. “Never mind. If I can’t fall asleep in the next twenty minutes, I’ll find a solution.” 

“Alright,” you say, yawning. You laugh quietly when you hear Alhaitham follow after you. “Let me know if you need anything.” 

You guess Alhaitham found a way to sleep because the next time you wake up, the sun has almost reached its apex. Your stomach growls when you smell lunch cooking a room away. 

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.

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Alhaitham can’t remember the last time someone has wanted to spend as much time with him as you do. Granted, he actively avoids people to prevent exactly that, but you are, he finds, the exception for many things in his life recently.

Alhaitham wouldn’t say he is touch-adverse, but he isn’t particular to physical touch at all. Only family has ever been that familiar with him, and even then, it is not excessive. He remembers most vividly the head pats that his grandmother would give him, his mother’s hand in his when he was young, and his father’s firm grip on his shoulder when he tells Alhaitham he’s proud of him. And when he did find himself in a group of people he didn’t mind being around, they weren’t exactly the touchiest of people either. He imagines Cyno trying to put his arm around his shoulder in a show of camaraderie and almost grimaces in real life. The only person who would even consider doing something like that to him would be Kaveh, but that’s only when he’s had quite a few drinks in…

With you around, he’s beginning to become more familiar with being close to you, in a literal sense. He feels it is subconscious for you most of the time, the way you hold onto his shoulders to go around him or the times you talk to him, a nudge here or a slap on the back there when you’re particularly amused about something. The frequency of touches has only grown since the two of you have gotten to know each other. Without knowing how physically affectionate you are previously, Alhaitham finds it hard to tell whether or not you’re doing it on purpose until you start asking him for permission. 

“Alhaitham,” you start to say, pointing to the seat directly next to him on the couch, “can I sit next to you?”

“Alhaitham,” you ask, pulling your hand back after showing him a video on your phone, “do you mind if I lean on you a little bit?”

“Alhaitham,” you say sleepily, lifting your head up from his shoulder for a moment, “is this okay?”

It’s very straightforward, he thinks after you let out an appreciative sound when he replies with an affirmation. Your head is an unfamiliar weight on his shoulder, but it is not uncomfortable, and he thinks he will get used to it very soon, if he hasn’t already. It’s become almost instinctual to do some things with you, beyond the habits that he has formed with living with you like the chore rotation or cooking for four people. Having your presence next to him is one of them. 

It’s almost comforting how predictable your actions are. When you slide into bed with him as he reads, you’ll almost always inch forward until you can comfortably show him some videos on your phone if the algorithm is to his taste. Without fail, you end up falling asleep with your head by his hand. Alhaitham never moves away though; he lets you stay as you are, close enough that your breaths tickle his arm. He reasons that it would be a hassle waking you up and making you move. You don’t fall asleep as easily as he does, kicking and turning before you leave the room for a glass of water so as to not bother him. (Another reason why you should start sleeping early as a habit, he thinks.)

And without fail, when the two of you go grocery shopping together, you will reach out for his arm to hold onto as he pushes the cart. You’ll hold onto the list the two of you made together, eyes on the screen of your phone as you trust Alhaitham to guide you through the throng of people safely. You don’t even blink when he has to tug your arm to move you from incoming foot traffic, but when the danger has cleared, you will always look at him and smile gratefully before going back to your list.

Speaking of the list, the two of you always make a list– you say this with a hint of exasperation. It's the result of an hour discussion of what groceries the two of you need for that week. And without fail the two of you will end up spending another fifteen minutes or so debating on the necessity of some extra items while shopping.

Some of the things that you insist on do annoy him somewhat, just because of how unrealistic it is. You do and will never need the bulk-sized croissants that will go bad before the two of you can eat them all, despite your insistence to bring the leftovers to work. He’d rather not be known as the coworker who brings free food; he can already imagine the racket his coworkers would cause with the free food let alone have him be the one to bring it. 

But you wouldn’t be able to live with him so well if you couldn’t hold yourself up in a discussion. Even Alhaitham caves if the madeleines are on sale or if the linguini pasta is a buy two get one free deal. “You know we both love eating these,” you would tell him. “And we always end up needing more pasta by the end of the month.”  

You always look so pleased when he tells you that ‘you have a point,’ as though winning an argument against him– if you can even call it that– is a cause for celebration. (He has a feeling that many of his coworkers would agree, so he keeps silent.) 

The times where he wants to purchase something, and you don’t are rare and far in-between. You have a habit of indulging his purchases, or perhaps you simply trust him to be financially frugal. He does find out that the two of you have a similar sense of humor though, when he buys the most experimental (read: ugly) art piece for the apartment and weeks later you still can’t stop laughing when you look at it on his side of the bed. 

With amusement, Alhaitham finds that you are easily prone to laughter. You can laugh at his dry, sardonic humor and turn around to laugh at a sex joke on your phone right after. (“You’re not going to ask your fiancé if they’re good after choking on their own spit?” “You’re talking just fine, aren’t you?” “Boo-o-o-o-o.”) 

Some parts of you he will never comprehend, but Alhaitham enjoys being able to unveil the different sides of you, layer by layer. It’s almost like a never-ending puzzle trying to figure out what makes you tick and the habits that make you you. 

What he doesn’t realize, as he finds out one sleepless night, is how these new habits affect him. 

Alhaitham can hear you start to get ready for bed hours after he has. He glances at the clock and barely represses a sigh when he sees that it’s already 2 AM. He’s never stayed up this late, even when he was still in school, and yet here he is, almost bleary eyed as he struggles to sleep without you there. 

And he knows that’s the reason why. There is no other justification. He’s worked out today so he should be thoroughly tired. He’s avoided blue-light, so his circadian rhythm isn’t disrupted. The only difference now is how much he has grown accustomed to having you in the same bed as him, a familiar warmth on the other pillow. 

Alhaitham almost wants to call his grandmother and demand if this is what she wanted for him. (She would probably just laugh until she cried. Maybe even be a little proud, though Alhaitham wouldn’t quite understand why.) Is this what it was all for? Dependency on another person for a good night’s sleep? It’s almost unthinkable for him to have gotten to this stage when he has never, ever relied on someone to live his life the way he wanted it to be. 

But then you finally get to bed, whisper to him good night, and Alhaitham finds his eyes closing as they should have been hours ago. 

Alhaitham wakes up feeling refreshed and unable to be miffed at you for ruining his sleep schedule, unbeknownst to you. Perhaps, like the many other things he has adapted to through living with you, needing to sleep next to you is something else he will get used to.

(Since when has that become so natural to him?)

.

.

.

You’ve been trying to sleep at the same time as Alhaitham lately. 

For one, he sleeps at a healthy time, which you haven’t done for years now. Secondly, it’ll be better for you in the long-run with your work schedule. And finally, you now have a reason other than work to go through with it. Alhaitham is encouraging you to do it and how could you say ‘no’ to that? Some parts of it are positive reinforcement (“Sleep is good for your health.”) and other parts of it sound more like a threat (“Didn’t you say your eyebags had eyebags just yesterday?”). You think maybe it just gets rid of any interruptions when you come into bed in the middle of the night, but Alhaitham rarely takes a long time to fall back asleep even if you do wake him up. 

Alhaitham has been the reason for a lot of your rather positive changes. Slow changes, you think, as you play on your laptop when Alhaitham shuts his book to head to sleep. Blue light be damned, you feel a yawn coming on already despite it only being 9 PM, a testament to the habits you’ve been building with Alhaitham. But old habits die hard, and your dailies have yet to be done for Genshin. You know the light makes it hard for Alhaitham to sleep so you close your laptop, slipping out of bed with the intention to play in the living room for a few minutes. 

“Wait,” Alhaitham says, stopping you before you stand. “You can stay.”

The words alone from Alhaitham are enough to make warmth swirl in your chest. You think your voice is softer when you speak to him, “But won’t the sounds and lights bother you?” To your surprise, you watch as Alhaitham pulls out an eye mask and earbuds from his nightstand. 

You don’t know if you’re too much of a hopeless romantic or if you’re reading too much into this, but you think maybe– perhaps– Alhaitham would rather inconvenience himself with using an eye mask and earbuds than have you leave his side. You feel your heart flutter, though you think you mask it well when you tease him, “You miss me that much when I’m gone?” 

You see Alhaitham roll his eyes before setting in his eye mask and earbuds. “Good night,” he says. 

You watch him for a little bit afterwards, heartbeat thrumming in your ears, and all you can think about is the fact that he never said ‘no’ to you. (And he would if you were wrong. You know he would; he has never let a lie stand when it’s the two of you.) 

The giddiness never leaves– you don’t know if it will ever– but a wave of tranquility rolls over you too. A pervading warmth. A sense of belonging that mixes itself with the tangles in your stomach. Something in you shifts, and you think you’re beyond infatuation now. 

You’re in love with Alhaitham. 

You take another glance at him before going back to your game, wondering if he would wear a funny eye mask if you were to buy it for him. (You love him.) You finish your dailies in a few minutes and close your laptop, the fan quieting until all you can hear is silence. (You love him.) You turn off the last lamp of the room and slide underneath the blanket. You hear Alhaitham shift on his side of bed, turning towards you, and you wonder if he knows he does that every time you slip into bed with him. 

Just as you lean into him on the couch or bicker with him over groceries, this, too, is starting to feel natural: you love him.

.

.

.

taglist:

@crowbird @thetwinkims @jaguarthecat @tanspostsblog @dxstopiaa @yoimyas @theprinceofkhaos @homeinhobii @nagisuterus @sleep-deprivedracoon @scentedcandlesandcookies @secretlyrexlapis @flooffi @kibbly-bibbly @loki-zos-galvus

[middleearthpixie]

This is the artwork I commissioned done by the amazing @crowrelli for the @tolkienpinupcalendar's 2024 event organized by @frosticenow and @the-girl-with-the-algebra-book!

And here is the fic—Second Time Around—I wrote to accompany it!

Second Time Around

Summary: For Brynne, Minas Tirith is the last place she wishes to be, as every corner holds bittersweet memories of the love of her life, the Captain of the White Guard, Boromir. Determined to keep her distance from him, she nonetheless cannot stop thinking about him, and those very memories torment her on ever level.

But when he asks for a second chance with her… old feelings are rekindled and passion proves too much to ignore, leaving Brynne has to decide if the pleasure they share is worth risking her heart once more. 

Fandom: Lord of the Rings - Post war of the Ring, AU, Everybody Lives 

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Brynne 

Warning: unprotectedintercourse 

Rating: M

Word Count: 4.3k

***

He watched her. Brynne refused to look up and give him the satisfaction of knowing she knew he watched her, but he did. Just as he had for the last four days she’d been in Minas Tirith, buried in the subterranean archives that housed the city—and Gondor’s—history. His expression remained the same—sober and unsmiling, but she didn't think he was exactly unhappy that she was there. Then again, she had the King’s blessing and since the King outranked the Captain of the White Tower, whether or not Boromir was happy did not exactly matter. Of course, that didn't mean his gaze didn't make her uncomfortable or uneasy. Because it did. Well, it made her uncomfortable more than anything else. Not uneasy, because she didn't feel as if she was in any danger. No, she just felt that if a ceiling beam dropped onto her, he wouldn’t be all that unhappy about it.  She tried to put it from her mind as she pored over the somewhat-ragged, very dusty ledge she’d found and picked up her quill to make a note in her own journal.  Boots sounded against stone and as a shadow fell over her, a low voice broke the silence. “How much longer do you need?” She set down her pen and looked up. “I have no way of knowing that. Does my presence here trouble you? And if so, why? I need no babysitter, you know. I’m perfectly capable of asking the archivist for help, should I require it.” His eyes—those beautiful green eyes—narrowed slightly. “I’m still not entirely certainly why you’re here. And I think you know exactly why your presence here would trouble me.”

Now Live on AO3

[rayan12sworld]

💙A Thousand Things

By:tickertape

Summary:

Wei Ying can’t find his words. “What would I do in Gusu?”

The man’s mouth quirks in what Wei Ying cannot interpret as anything but a tiny, smug smirk. “Learn.”

Wei Ying has made a fine life for himself. He’s got his jiejies and his talismans; he doesn’t need anyone’s charity. But spending a whole year in Gusu? That’s hard to turn down.

Chapter:11/11

Words:108,237

Status:completed

(Wei Ying isn't adopted by Jiangs)

...Lan Qiren has been a teacher for many years; he’s seen his share of naturally gifted students. Wei Ying, the scruffy, arrogant, waspish boy from the marketplace, is something altogether different. He watches from a distance as his nephew and Wei Ying sit together at a table in the library, discussing a text on advanced meditation techniques. Wei Ying is slovenly, completely slouched over the book, gesticulating wildly. The end of his brush is gnawed on, his fingers ink-stained. His words are rapid, too loud. His hair is a mess. Wangji is watching him like he hung the moon. Despite himself, Lan Qiren also finds his gaze gravitating repeatedly towards the bright spark that has the usual Cloud Recesses balance spinning off-kilter. There’s something about him that’s difficult to look away from. Something familiar. His smile, his laugh, and something in the way he moves his hands as he writes. It sparks something deep in Lan Qiren’s memory. It isn’t until he watches him spar that suddenly things click into clearer focus. His quicksilver motions, instinctive and foxlike. Cangse Sanren.

~

he will know of his parents one day; Lan Qiren could not deprive him of that. But just for this year, he wants to watch and see. He could not articulate it if he tried, but he watched his brother be destroyed by their sect’s rules and agendas. He has seen good men dig their own righteous graves, and callous men abuse the integrity of others. Wei Ying has come from nothing, as far as he or the world knows, and to go from that to bearing the weight of all that came before him is more than Lan Qiren would wish on anybody. So when Jiang Fengmian visits to discuss trade treaties, Lan Qiren does not tell him. When he marvels at their new disciple’s capabilities in the field, Lan Qiren does not tell him. When he mentions blithely over dinner that the boy seems almost familiar, Lan Qiren does not tell him. He has a sense that, no matter how much his old friend may think himself balanced and impartial, the desire to guard and guide Cangse Sanren’s son would prove too much for him. It would just lock Wei Ying in the same cage of well-intended but misplaced expectations. Lan Qiren has been a teacher for many years; he’s seen his share of naturally gifted students, and he’s seen his share of tragedies, both the preventable and the inexorable. Wei Ying, the scruffy, arrogant, remarkable boy with too many ideas and too much heart, has the potential to be something altogether different. To watch how high he can soar without a tether, if just for the moment— it might be something to behold.

~~~ wow he really didn't tell him

Wei Ying makes it all the way to Destroy the five poisons before he can’t concentrate any more. He drops his brush onto the table with a clatter, exhaling loudly. ���Trouble with the precepts, Lan Zhan?” Lan Zhan freezes, his eyes still cut towards Wei Ying. He gently lowers his brush onto the stand and adjusts his sleeves. “You… seem upset.” Wei Ying fights the urge to just punch himself in the face. “I’m tired.” This just sends Lan Zhan’s brows furrowing lower. “You didn’t come to the jingshi.” “I was out.” “Are you having difficulty sleeping due to nightma—” “No.” Wei Ying jolts the table, sending his brush tumbling to the floor. “And even if I was, it’s not your job to— to make me sleep, or whatever.” He breathes out hard through his nose, aiming for ‘calm’ and probably missing by about a thousand lǐ. Lan Zhan’s properly frowning now. “Wei Ying—” “Drop it, Lan Zhan. Finish your work.” But he doesn’t return to his text. “Wei Ying, whatever is upsetting you—” Yesterday’s hurt flares up in him in a burst. Lan Zhan’s words; It’s not about his conduct. It is about him. He does not belong here. Wei Ying grips the wooden table in front of him, trying not to raise his voice. “—is my business.” He finishes for him through gritted teeth. Lan Zhan reaches for him; too close, too much, too little, and that’s the last straw. Wei Ying slaps his hand away, the smack resounding loud and sharp in the stiff silence of the library.

~~ 🫠

“Wei Ying.” Ah, there he is. Wei Ying is pretty sure he’s heard his name spoken more times today than ever before. “Lan Zhan.” He responds dryly. There’s no response for a few breaths, and Wei Ying risks a glance. Lan Zhan’s dark hair is damp, curling at the ends, and there are tiny droplets of shining water caught on his eyelashes. He really seems like a jade sculpture. Unfairly beautiful. Lan Zhan worries at his lip, and Wei Ying watches that, too. “I have upset you.” He says, finally. Wei Ying exhales, breath furling out before him like dragon smoke. He wants to be angry. There’s so much burning up in him, but...Maybe Lingxin is right. “Yeah. Yes. You have.”

Lan Zhan nods, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere in the water between them. “I... admit that I do not know what I did, or have done. But I am sorry.” Wei Ying doesn’t know what to say— how much to say. “Thanks,” feels safest. Because no matter how good the advice was, he doesn’t want to talk about it. He just wants Lan Zhan to unsay it, unfeel it. Cold, fierce tension runs through him in jitters, locking his jaw painfully tight. Wanting is pointless. Lan Zhan did say those things. No amount of misinterpretation can make that an untruth. He turns away to hide his face, which he can feel contorting with emotion. He doesn’t want to think about this any more. But then Lan Zhan’s voice comes from beside him, painfully tentative. “Was— was it our conversation at the inn? Did I misspeak about your intentions towards cultivation?” Fuck. Lan Zhan had been so gentle with him on the balcony, more than he had needed to be towards someone putting such unnecessary strain on his life. Wei Ying shakes his head, feeling the corners of his mouth wobble. The cold is beginning to feel stifling. He needs to go to bed. “Was it about coming home?” Wei Ying’s heart clenches in his chest. He whips around, furious tears welling in his eyes. “Home?” He says, voice strained. “What home, Lan Zhan? You said I didn’t belong here.” Lan Zhan looks stricken. His eyes go wide. “I—” “I heard you speaking to your brother. Wei Ying is not a Lan. He will never be one. He doesn’t belong here. I heard you.” Lan Zhan stares, mouth agape. Wei Ying can’t stop. “It’s only until the conference, Wangji! I can’t— why? It’s one thing to feel like that, but to— to—?” He flails his arms, trying to find his point. “Just tell me that you think I’m worthless, that you hate me. It would have been easier.” His words break off with a crack, and he slams a fist into the water. Icy droplets splash miserably onto his face. He sniffs, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. The night sits still and frigid and still around them. It drains the last of Wei Ying’s anger, and he sinks into himself, feeling hollow and… sad. He’s sad. Hurt. He wants things to go back to the way they were.

~~~😭😭

“You kissed me.” In a whisper, barely leaving his tongue: “We kissed.” Lan Zhan freezes, and Wei Ying can hear the way his breath catches in his chest. The way the hand resting over his tenses. Shit. Shit, he’s ruined it. He has to backtrack— “It was silly, I—” “No.” Wei Ying bites his tongue with how hard his jaw snaps shut. “Not silly.” Lan Zhan says, and it comes out a bit choked. He seems to be scrabbling for words. His Lan Zhan, scrabbling. “I— I had thought I dreamt it.” Wei Ying feels time stop. Feels his world tilt a little bit, as Lan Zhan gazes imploringly at him. “It would not have been the first time.” And then, all in one breath, like it takes everything in him: “Kissing you is all I have ever wished to do, since we first met.” The air seems to leave the room in one big rush, taking the breath from Wei Ying’s lungs with it. Lan Zhan wanted to… kiss him? Lan Zhan wanted to kiss him. Has been wanting. Just like Wei Ying has been wanting. Except longer. Longer, Wei Ying realises as he watches the tense line of his brow and mouth, the dark intensity of his golden eyes as they search his face. Lan Zhan wanted to kiss him the night of the festival. And before. “All this time?” He whispers. Lan Zhan gives the faintest nod. He’s so beautiful. Even nervous, even when he’s radiating apprehension. Lan Zhan has been wanting. He’s been staring at Wei Ying’s mouth right back. Like Wei Ying, he’s been wondering how the wine would taste shared between their tongues, how his hands would feel reaching underneath Wei Ying’s robe, touching his bared skin. Heat rushes through him; a dam bursting over shallow fields, dancing over his body in goosebumps. Wei Ying parts his lips to call out for him, but Lan Zhan is already there, barely a breath away. He’s there and his face is so close that Wei Ying can smell him. Sandalwood and cool, clean linen. And a new note; deeper, muskier.

[golden444manifest]

Learn from my mistakes

Entry Level Finance Associate Edition ✨

This past year has taught me so much about myself. I bumped my head so many times. However, this has shaped the professional I am today. Here are some topics I had to learn the hard way.

First and fore most write everything down

You will have a lot of information thrown at you and it’s nearly impossible to retain it if you don't write it down. It’s also proven that writing things down is beneficial.

It helps you to process and clarify your thoughts.

It frees up your mind to create more ideas.

Provides a foundation of knowledge that can be built upon.

Helps with forgetfulness, you can access the information when you need it and you don’t have to remember it.

Practice active communication

Give your manager an update before they ask you for one.

Keep up with your email - it’s not fun if people have to track you down. Everyone’s time is important.

Figure out a method to keep up with your emails. I personally practice inbox zero and I work out of my flagged emails folder. More information here.

Seek outside educational sources

Book knowledge will only get you so far.

Don’t be afraid to google things. I bet money your superiors still do it.

Take LinkedIn Learning courses in areas that you lack. - I took a few, how-to-take effective meeting notes, business communications foundation and how to think strategically.

Stay up to date with Finance trends and emerging regulations.

If your employer provides outside resources, take advantage of them! They are there for you for free!

Run your own race

Everyone brings something unique to the table. Try to find out what you bring.

I don’t shy away from responsibility. I'm an extremely hard worker and if you drop something on my desk, I will figure it out.

Remember you are enough and you contribute something valuable to your team.

Get organized!

Here’s my post on my organization system. Extra tips include:

Learn to wrap up your day - Meaning make a habit of shutting down your computer everyday. This forces you to wrap up items you are in progress of and helps you to keep track of them. It also feels good to be able to start your day fresh.

Get a planner - Physical or digital whatever your preference is. Get into the habit of using it every day to log important dates and tasks.

Keep you calendar updated - You don’t want to miss important meetings.

Don’t be afraid to ask for help!

They do not expect you to know everything. In fact they expect you to know the bare minimum.

Ask questions, but try not to ask the same question over and over.

Get Grammarly Premium!!!

This has saved my life and lifted so much stress off my shoulders. No more am I spending the entire day working on an email and second-guessing myself. I run everything through Grammarly before I send out anything and save so much time.

Closing

If no one has told you today, you are amazing, and you are capable of fantastic things! Once you get the basics down, you will be unstoppable. 😉

If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask. This year, I felt I had no one to go to because I was the only black girl on my team, and we were very scarce in the Finance department. We can all win together.🤞🏾

[melvisik]

Aziraphale's Choice aka If this turns out to be too controversial, I'll take it down...

Since Good Omens season 2 dropped, public opinion of Aziraphale has pendulumed from frustration to sympathy in a matter of days, and it’s completely understandable. At first, most of us were more than likely experiencing the same as Crowley in that moment – that sinking feeling of ‘Oh god no, no he didn’t. This cannot be happening. Aziraphale, please be smarter than that.’ We were devastated, we were angry, we were disgusted at Aziraphale’s choice to essentially abandon Crowley. Justifiably so, to be honest.

Then came the switch, when we got a chance to breathe and realize that Aziraphale’s actions weren’t entirely unreasonable. He wants to make a toxic environment a better place, not just for humanity, but for Crowley as well. While he does still tend to view things too much in black and white, it’s no crime to want your world in a better state. And this isn’t as if Aziraphale is losing Crowley forever, at least not in his mind. Come Hell or high-water, Crowley always shows up again. Especially if there's even the slightest chance Aziraphale's walking into a risky situation.

Though this time just might be a step too far... However, another argument has often been made that I'd like to emphasize here: Aziraphale is, essentially, in a cult. Now it's a cult of a different color to be sure, as he hasn’t been forced into performing lascivious acts, or tortured, or imprisoned (as far as I know…), but he has been an integral part of an organization based around a single theological/idealogical idea - that his every waking moment should be dedicated to serving the will of an ineffable Higher Power, without question or complaint and in complete accordance with the demands of his superiors. In short - he's got major religious trauma. Getting out of a cult is frickin hard. (So much respect and support to those who have broken out of cults, and to those still trapped, I sincerely hope you find your way and peace someday.) Aziraphale has the idea of the righteousness of Heaven ingrained into his very being, and that can be extremely challenging to let go of, even if you see the consistent wrongness right in front you. Aziraphale sees it as being problematic because of some systematic flaws.

Crowley on the other hand, who has been literally rejected and hurt from this organization, sees the system itself as inherently flawed. Ok, you know what? Let’s go for it and use a plant metaphor, because this is Good Omens and it’s what we do: Aziraphale sees the tree as being sick because of a few bad apples, but he is attached to that tree. Crowley is already off and sees the tree as being rotten at the root; he's ready to sprout his own roots and be his own tree. Aziraphale is situated and comfortable in his environment, while Crowley is more or less accustomed to being displaced. For instance, Crowley loses the flat, but they take their plants with them - Crowley takes care of them, giving them what they need to survive (though they don’t exactly let them be ‘lazy’ about it).

Aziraphale keeps his bookshop and takes care of books, which requires considerably less effort. And although Aziraphale eventually leaves his books, he’s going back to a familiar environment under the banner of improving it. In Aziraphale's mind, Heaven still represents all the good deeds humanity chooses to do, even if Heaven and humanity have shown very different brands of ‘goodness’ (and a worse kind of badness when it comes to Hell for that matter, humans doing something so much worse than Hell could have imagined). And of course going to Hell would be bad since they're the bad guys (I mean, completely ignoring Beelzebub as another demon capable of love, but who's counting?), but Heaven is a different matter, right? There are people like ‘Jim’ and Muriel who seem well-intentioned, so it can’t be all bad, can it? It can be fixed, can't it? An interesting question that many people asked in the first season – does Aziraphale realize that Armageddon, the War between Heaven and Hell, means that he’ll probably have to kill Crowley? Or at least that Crowley very likely will be killed, since he’s so sure that Heaven will win? Besides this part…

…it doesn’t seem to register in his head. It could be argued that even Gabriel and Beelzebub seem to acknowledge this, not wanting to start up another Armageddon and risk destroying each other. But why not Aziraphale? Sometimes, Aziraphale reminds me of the kind of person who smiles at you and goes, “You don’t seem like such a bad sort, it’s such a shame you’re going to Hell. I’ll pray for you.” *cough*Iforgiveyou*cough* You know who sounds sorta like that?

As I said, cults are difficult leave. They’re often even dangerous and vindictive towards ‘deserters’ (Book of Life anyone?) Aziraphale does need to finally see the light, but at the moment he’s so blinded by Heaven’s. The kicker is, it’s something he must want. Nobody else, not even Crowley, can make that decision for him. Crowley can't rescue him from this. Crowley can only help him, give him guidance or be there to catch him if he… well, hopefully metaphorically falls. This has to be Aziraphale’s choice. But we all knew that. So...

It’s just hard for him, y’all. P.S. There's so many beautiful analyses on Aziraphale's choice, but one I would highly recommend (it's also a bit of a different take):

[icallhimjoey]

A Whisper Away

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: A continuation of Like A Poem and A Lot Like Love where we dip into your November for a couple consecutive years and see how you're getting on with the bookstore, Joe's career and... other changes.

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, angsty, I strongly advise you to read the previous bookstore fics before diving into this one!

Author’s note: an amazing request from @darthvontrapp inspired this "third season" in the bookstore, hope you enjoy!

Wordcount: 3.1K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Exhausted. Far too tired to start another fight. Yet, here you were, crying and angry and Joe just didn't get it because he'd forgotten.

The day, the week - the month had left you a shell of a person. The breakroom was still a huge mess; there were toys strewn across the floor from where Alfie had been playing, and Anne had been too busy watching him to organize the mess that had been left on the table. And you hadn't even gotten to the state the actual store front was in. November was tough; with Christmas coming up, people would come in to look for specific books they would need convincing their loved ones would like. This was something you were good at, but your brain seemed to have stopped working optimally ever since you'd had a child months ago.

It had been a busy Saturday, and lots needed doing still for you to be able to open on time the following Sunday. For starters, you needed to hoover. With a curious child crawling around freely now, you’d really notice how dirty the place would get by the dark grey patches it’d leave on Alfie’s knees.

Looking around, you knew your evening was going to be filled with tasks down here in the store. You’d just bathed Alfie upstairs and had kissed him goodnight before Joe had disappeared into his room with him to put him to bed. Sometimes it could take ages, other times he’d do exactly as he was told; there really was no middle ground.

Joe’s dad had laughed at the two of you when you told him how it could sometimes take hours to put Alfie down, and then he had told Joe that he knew karma would find its way back to him for the years of sleepless nights Joe had apparently caused his parents. “It was just very unfair,” Joe explained to you. “I was the only person in the house who had to sleep in a bed by myself, everyone else got to share,” the only other people in the house at the time being Joe’s mum and dad. “So, I get it, little man,” Joe would coo at Alfie.

It’s why Alfie slept in your bed with the two of you so often – you didn’t always mind, Alfie was adorable, and he loved to snuggle, tiny arms would always find your neck to wrap themselves around. But sometimes, you did mind. You’d think of Alfie a couple of years older without the capability of sleeping on his own and you’d try your best to convince Joe to let Alfie get used to the routine of being put to bed and sleeping in his own bedroom.

It also really didn’t help that you’d totally underestimated the amount of sleep your body clearly needed to function properly, and for nearly a year, you’d maybe gotten it… twice? Every night, for months, you’d be disturbed in your sleep and be forced into action. It was things like Alfie crying, Alfie slapping you awake accidentally, Alfie climbing on top of you in his sleep in a bid to be closer to you, somehow never closer to Joe, it was always you that required midnight climbing upon. Or they were other things, like Joe waking you up, asking you where you’d left the bottle, which you would always leave in its spot, but Joe had just not registered it there even when he’d looked right at it, because Joe was tired too.

You loved Alfie, and you loved Joe. So much.

But you’d be so very envious of Joe when he got to go on trips for his job. Just, get out of the routine of it all for a few days. Sure, he’d be so busy, he’d barely have time to himself, but still, you could just feel envy eat away at you when he'd be packing an overnight bag. Again. You didn’t want to sound like a bad mother, so you’d never admit it to anyone, but you longed for a night away in a hotel, just so you could get 10 consecutive hours of pure blissful sleep.

When you turned off the hoover after getting most of the store front done, you could hear Joe’s footsteps coming down the stairs. You looked around and felt happy enough with the floors, but the displays were messy still, and the counter had so much random shit on it, you didn’t really know where to begin.

You heard the kettle go on in the breakroom, and shortly after, Joe appeared and saw you stood in the middle of the store, both hands pressed against your cheeks and your eyes found each other.

“There’s too much,” you said, clearly overwhelmed, trying to numb yourself enough to be able to deal with all of it.

“There’s three things,” Joe reassured, placing the baby monitor he’d been holding on the counter and coming in to hug you. “There’s you and me, there’s Alfie, and there’s the bookstore.” Joe tried his best to remind you of his priorities, making the huge mountain of work you couldn’t see around slightly translucent in the moment. “It’s just three things,” he tucked you under his chin and rested his head on top of yours.

Joe was wrong, though. It was more than three things; there were shelves, displays, the counter, the till that needed doing still, and then also the entirety of the breakroom, and you hadn’t even thought about what else laid in wait for you upstairs, in the apartment. But you appreciated Joe trying to make it easier for you, even if it didn’t really help. Your body ached as Joe squeezed you tighter before letting go when he heard the kettle boil, and it only reminded you more of how your body felt like it had aged 10 years over the past 12 months.

Joe jogged on over to the breakroom, to make tea no doubt, and you knew that what you needed to do, was get started on a task. You looked over at the counter and were interrupted by the baby monitor springing to life. It was just soft mumbling from Alfie’s tiny voice, nothing that needed checking on, but it reminded you only more of the responsibilities and the weight of them on your shoulders. When Joe walked back in with two steaming mugs of tea, he found you still stood in the same spot, but now on the verge of crying.

“Come on,” Joe nodded his head towards the armchairs in the window. “Let’s sit.”

You obliged, even if it was just because Joe took charge. He could’ve said “Do the till first,” and you would’ve just as easily done that, you thought. But letting yourself fall back into an armchair and accepting the hot mug of tea Joe held out for you felt much nicer than doing actual work, obviously. Joe sat down opposite you, took a careful sip of his tea, decided it was too hot to drink, and placed it down on the little side table before reaching for one of your legs.

“Did Alfie go down easily?” you asked, blowing into your mug, letting Joe take off your shoes one by one. 

“Ssh, no baby talk,” Joe shushed you. You used the no-baby-talk-rule very sparingly, only when one of you would realise that all of your recent conversations had exclusively revolved around Alfie. Or, when you’d have friends over that didn’t have children – you never wanted to become the couple that could speak of nothing else but your child, even though there were always so many things to talk about, things to discuss, things to ask each other. But Joe called it now. No baby talk. You looked at him for a second over your mug. “He went down fine,” Joe quickly said, smiling, knowing it’d drive you crazy if he’d just let your question dangle in between you without an answer.

When your second shoe was off, you were about to pull your leg back to pull both up onto the chair, but Joe didn’t let you. Instead, he held onto your foot, sat back in his own chair comfortably and started kneading. You frowned and let your head fall to the side, relaxing. That felt nice.

“Don’t,” you started, but you made yourself laugh. “Don’t smell your hands after, my feet can’t smell great after today,” and without even the slightest of hesitations, Joe bent over in the chair slightly to press his nose onto your sock. “They’re fine,” he lied. You knew they weren’t, but Joe was sweet and Joe didn’t want to say the wrong thing and make you cry, and that in and of itself made your eyebrows pinch together.

“Ew, no, you’re right, they stink,” Joe tried to save the situation, but it was too late, because trying to make you laugh only made you love him more, and you sobbed through a smile. You felt delirious, laughing and crying at the same time, whilst Joe kept massaging your foot with firm fingers, eyebrows scrunched up as he looked at you a little worried.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” it almost made you feel like you were in therapy.

You shrugged through tears. You thought Joe knew what was wrong.

“Sometimes I don’t think I can do it,”

“So then don’t,”

You scoffed at Joe as you used the backs of your hands to dry your cheeks, quick to erase any sign of them in true mum-fashion. Obviously, Joe’s suggestion wasn’t an option.

“Don’t open the store tomorrow,” you knew Joe meant well, but it felt like a challenge, and you didn’t appreciate it. You thought Joe knew what you were thinking, so you refrained from answering. 

“You know financially you don’t have to,”

Of course, you knew that. If this had been about the money, you’d never ever taken over the store in the first place. It was never about money. It was about the books, and about your family - your granddad. It was about the accomplishment and about the independence; all of it mattered, and it mattered to your customers too, and so you'd vowed that having Alfie wouldn’t change much. The fact that Joe was raking in deal after deal was nice, but your store was still your store, with or without Joe's financial support. 

“And then where will it end? Shutting the whole place down eventually?” you put your mug down too forcefully.

Joe groaned at your doom-thinking, now letting your foot go and leaning over to grab the sides of your armchair, like he’d done so many times before, pulling it forward to close the distance between you. 

“That’s quite the leap,” he said, reaching to cup your face and wiping his thumbs over tear marks you hadn’t yet wiped away yourself. “I promise you the world won’t end if you don’t open the store tomorrow,” Joe cooed with his head slightly tilted. It felt impossible to explain how every fibre of your being disagreed with Joe, even though logically you knew he was right, you didn’t feel he was right. You couldn't not open tomorrow. Joe didn't get it, and you thought he must have forgotten.

You looked around, suddenly feeling the rush of work in your body and feeling the ticking of time in your brain. Your hands itched to tidy a display. But Joe saw, and used his hands on your face to pull you in for a kiss.

You let him, but made sure to keep it quick pecks.

"You cured me, I think I can do it," you lied, patting Joe on the outside of his thighs and getting up. Joe reached for your arm to grab, and when you looked at him, at your Joey with his big brown pleading eyes, he made you frown. "I can do it," you repeated, only frustrating Joe more.

"You're going to work yourself into the ground one day,"

It was a comment you could've taken as a compliment. It meant you had great work ethic. A passion for your job. A strong character.

But Joe didn't mean it as a compliment. He meant it as a warning.

"I'm fine," you said, now busy straightening books, counting the stacks, rearranging as you went.

"All right, you're fine," Joe scoffed, obviously not buying it and now getting up himself, leaving the mugs of tea forgotten. "I'm not going to be walking in on you crying in the store every night, just for you to tell me that you're fine whilst completely ignoring me," Joe walked around the counter and started piling everything he knew shouldn't be on there. He was annoyed that you'd started working, and that you clearly wanted to open up shop tomorrow, but he'd still help you. Joe wasn't awful.

"I'm not ignoring you," you said, rushing over to take over whatever Joe was doing, afraid he'd do something wrong with the potential of you misplacing or losing something important. Joe only grew more irritated from it. "There just things to get done." You explained, realising Joe had done exactly what he needed to do to get you in gear to get the bookstore ready for another day.

But he wasn't happy about it.

"There's three things," Joe said, exhaling a quick breath loudly through his nostrils with eyes closed in annoyance.

"Bookstore's one of them," you were quick to argue, eyes going over every single item that you categorized into separate piles on the counter. Joe hated that your full attention wasn't with him.

"Exactly. Just one. A third of your time. A third."

Joe spoke so sternly, it made you stop what you were doing to look at him. You scanned his face for a hint of soft love, maybe a little left over worry from earlier, but you couldn't find any.

"Joe, I..." you let your eyes scan the room before they wandered up the shelves and around. The bookstore was your life. Joe had always understood. He'd made himself part of it. Why was it suddenly a problem? Why today?

Before either one of you could say anything, the baby monitor in front of you beeped, prompting both of you to look at it, and you heard the quiet cries from Alfie that slowly became louder.

"Another third," Joe said, barely moving to look at you, his eyes doing the most. You didn't know what to say, how to respond to that. Instead, you let your eyes dartle between the baby monitor and the work in your hands, not moving, but also not knowing what to do as Alfie's cries grew steadily in volume.

"No, that's okay, I'll go," Joe said it in the most passive aggressive manner you'd ever heard him speak to you as he stepped backwards, away from the counter as he looked at you. Then he brought a finger to his chest, poked it twice and said, "A third." before turning and leaving to go check on your 10 month old son.

Joe'd left you speechless. And angry. And sad. You already were so tired, and now he's just insinuated that you weren't making enough time for Alfie and for him? For Joe? The guy who went off to film on location for weeks? Who'd travel to three countries in a week for, and you weren't exaggerating, parties? And now you were the bad guy because you had had a long hard day at work and still had things to do to be ready for opening up the store tomorrow? The math wasn't mathing, and you blinked away angry tears, hating that you felt guilty over staying down in the bookstore to do your job.

You sniffed loudly, watery eyes obstructing your vision that you wiped away angrily, annoyed grunts leaving you when you heard Joe walk into Alfie's room on the monitor.

"Shhh, it's okay, Alfie," Joe's voice sounded crackly through the tiny speakers. It was followed by footsteps, soft rustling, Alfie's cries dying out, and then soft shushing from Joe. You knew Joe had picked Alfie up and was now swaying him in his arms, pressed tightly against his body. "Come on, little man," Joe then whispered, followed by soft kissing sounds, and you heard footsteps leaving Alfie's bedroom.

You knew Joe was taking Alfie over to your bed, which meant a couple of things. One, your crying picked up, which you didn't like. Two, Joe wouldn't be coming back down to help out, which would mean it was going to take you longer. Not ideal after the whole "three things" schpiel Joe just gave you. And three, you'd have Alfie in the bed with you which almost guaranteed you wouldn't get the good night of sleep that you yearned for so badly.

You knew then that Joe'd forgotten.

Joe would've never talked to you the way he had tonight if he hadn't forgotten.

It was just before midnight when you threw the last few toys into a basket in the corner of the breakroom. You sighed loudly and checked the time. The breakroom was tidy and clean, and you walked into the front to give that a last look over too. The armchair that Joe had pulled forward was the one thing still out of place, and when you used your knees to push it back into its original spot, you checked the time again, and saw it was just three more minutes.

So, you sat down in your granddad's old armchair, and you waited. For some reason, you needed to be down in the store for it. 

You let your eyes drift up the shelves and saw the one book you'd never sell, still in its spot, right where it belonged. You'd already cried so much tonight, for several reasons and several feelings, but grief hadn't been one of them yet, so these tears felt different. You pulled up your knees in a bid to comfort yourself, which worked a little, and snuggled up into the plush chair. With hot tears in your eyes, you tried to relax as you watched the clock pass midnight.

It was now officially five years ago that your grandfather had passed away.

You let your mind overtake itself with memories, closing your eyes with trembling lips to visualise him as clearly as you could, trying to remember the sound of his voice, his laughter, his proud eyes and the wisdom he'd speak. You could really use some of his wise words right now. 

With your heart full of ache and nostalgia, you knew that Joe was right. But just for now, it didn't matter that he was. Just for now, you allowed the bookstore to be all three of your thirds. Just for now, it was just you and your granddad down in the store, and you envisioned him telling you to keep the store closed the next day, and you silently promised him through tears that you would.

You let sleep eventually overtake you, and dozed off in the armchair where you, and you didn't mean for this to happen at all, accidentally got the best night's sleep you'd had in weeks.

-----

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