#instead of dealing with it when i'm sixty

[icryyoumercy]

called two different hospitals about a bill that really shouldn't have ended up with me, emailed disability services to ask about the current state of my case, and in the process of sorting out paperwork for taxes also ended up emailing my employer about the level of my retirement fund

many things have been done and i am proud of myself

[seat-safety-switch]

You can complain about most municipal services. Everyone knows I do, from my tragically short run as the newspaper's op-ed editor, to my aborted runs for mayor, governor, and chancellor of the modern art museum. That's not to mention when I visit the local bars to eat free peanuts and watch hockey, bitching loudly about local politics the entire time without buying anything. You can't be down on the firefighters, though.

As someone who has a lot of direct and indirect experience dealing with flames, I know that I can rely on the firefighters even when my own honed skills and equipment fail me. For instance, their trucks often are able to summon a vast quantity of water, much more than my squirt bottle full of rainfall can muster. They're always there when I screw up.

Recently, though, the primitive greed-heads in government have decided not to give them a raise, because they want to "keep taxes low." Here's a free bar rant for you: taxes are imaginary. Money is made up. We should be giving much more of it to the people who run into burning buildings. People like Bob Peplinski, the brave soldier of hot-gases removal who risked his life to deal with that cracked brake line I knew was routed a little bit too close to that hot exhaust last Tuesday on my way to work. He saved most of the car! Didn't even ask for a tip, which is more than I can say for the pizza boy who ran over the neighbour's mailbox.

Bob should be given as much money as he needs. He should have a big-assed pension, so that he has ample retirement time to sit on the beach and miss the adrenaline rush of putting out a tire fire that I probably also started. It's time to do the right thing, and raise taxes on the selfish megacorporations like General Motors, who can't even make a car that goes sixty-five years of deferred maintenance without bursting into flames just because I ran it out of oil and somehow shot a valve all the way through the exhaust piping, out the hole in the muffler, and into the fuel tank.

I'm doing my own part keeping these folks on their toes. They'd probably get bored without me, and start setting fire to houses or something instead. It takes a village, people.

[tanadrin]

Toward revised climates for Sogant Raha

A couple of weeks ago I finally got ExoPlaSim running, as detailed in this post from Worldbuilding Pasta; it's a finicky-as-hell piece of software, but it's also basically the only global climate model that seems remotely accessible to the conworlder who does not actually study this stuff for a living. And since it's pretty slow, especially on my antiquated machine, I looked into renting a virtual server from the same folks who do my webhosting. This is something I've never done before, and I was pleasantly surprised at how incredibly cheap it was--I'm paying about sixty Euro-cents a month at my current usage rates.

With a great deal of trial and error, I've been running climate models of Sogant Raha with different starting parameters. Mostly the failure states are pretty uninteresting--when I reduced the atmospheric pressure by 10% for instance, I had to crank up the CO2 levels a surprising amount or I just got an endless parade of snowball planets. Too much insolation and the whole planet is desert. The sweet spot for a stable climate (with Earthlike nitrogen and oxygen ratios) seems to be around 600 ppm of CO2, which is high compared to the pre-industrial baseline for the Holocene, but well within Earth's historic range.

This is the interpolated global climate map for Sogant Raha based on the last simulation. (Keep in mind the prevailing wind direction is the opposite of Earth's.) Some of the features are exactly what I was hoping for: that nice belt of equatorial rainforests, for instance, and a mild climate even at very high latitudes near the south pole. The rugged terrain of the northern polar regions probably influences the formation of tundra there.

There are some issues that definitely are due to needing to do another pass on the topography data; some mountain ranges are too high, which makes western Altuum too dry, I think. Central Demora (the left of the two small continents in the north-central region of the map) is much drier than I expected, probably due to topography and the low resolution of the model. Several islands are a lot drier than they should be; this is a know issue with ExoPlaSIm, apparently. I'm most surprised by the giant desert on the north end of Rezana (the southern continent in the group of three on the left). That region has comparatively low relief and water on three sides; even if it's not very wet, it should be wetter than that, I reckon. I'll have to dig into the data and see what that's about. And the desert in the northwest of Vinsamaren also makes no sense to me; it's equatorial, and there isn't an appreciable rain shadow in that region.

Sogant Raha is very much not a bottom-up project, in that it started with a group of stories I wanted to tell, and then I started thinking about how to link those stories together in a world that had internal consistency, and only much later did I start looking into stuff like climate and geology, so I'm actually quite pleased that I can get something comparatively close to my original design without any major revisions. The biggest change from my previous biome map is just the planet's axial tilt--instead of being very low, it is now rather high, around 30 degrees. No valleys of eternal night on the poles, which is a pity, but I can still have my south polar islanders who spend half the year sailing from island to island in perpetual darkness.

[sissytobitch10seconds]

I think it's kind of interesting that Viktor is overshadowed by his siblings both in the canon and fanon.

In season one I could understand it. Despite Viktor being the main character that literally drives the entire plot, everyone focuses on the other characters. People make fun of Luther for talking about the moon all the time. Everyone is almost creepily obsessed with Klaus and the Vietnam fling that he had. No one really talks about Allison, but her story is primarily linked with Viktor's since she's trying to heal their relationship (fandom misogyny too). I think that there's a decent amount of talk around Five since he's such a fascinating character. There's quite a lot of talking about Diego too, since he loses Eudora and spends a lot of time trying to take care of Klaus. But no one really talks about Viktor and the amount of shit that he goes through in s1. All the siblings other than Allison completely abandon him too, and Allison only wants the idea of a 'sister' that she's built up in her head since she lost her husband and daughter.

In season two, it makes even less sense to not talk about what Viktor has done. He has a queer love story with Sissy and we get to see way more development and chemistry for, Klaus and Dave had a montage and some sad lines from Klaus as opposed to an entire arc through ten episodes, but no one really does anything with it. Allison gets basically no attention for the same fandom misogyny issues as before. Five gets some attention because of the fact that he's exhausted and still dealing with the Commission (his fight scenes are amazing). Diego gets the same treatment as Luther did but a little more deserving because the plan to save JFK was stupid. Luther gets totally sidelined and ignored too, but people really hated him in S1 so I'm not surprised. Klaus gets all the attention again even though his plot outside of Ben possessing him is honestly really boring and makes me so uncomfortable.

Season three is where Viktor should have gotten the most attention. If we're considering the fact that the TUA fandom has a very queer audience, then they should be super excited and celebrating the fact that Viktor is trans. Not only that, but he's also working his ass off so that he can fix things for Allison and get her back to a timeline where her daughter exists or back to the sixties. I think a lot of people ignore that, giving Five more credit than he deserves for trying to fix the world when Viktor was doing that until Harlan showed up and he wanted to handle that first. A lot of attention during the debut went again to Klaus, which was actually warranted this time since he was plot relevant by showing us things about Reggie and discovering his powers. Diego got more attention since he was parenting Stan and fighting with Lila, which was nice. Five got some meme attention but nothing serious and Luther got a little bit of genuine love. But mostly people just posted the conversation where Viktor comes out to his family and continued to ignore him.

Now Season four is out and no one cares about Viktor. He stands up to Reginald and says all of the things that he needs to say, he fights like Hell to try and save Ben from the Durango and get him someplace stable, he owns a bar and got fucking KIDNAPPED. No one is talking about him, all people are doing is complaining about fivela and the ending.

Viktor moved to Nova Scotia probably to get better trans healthcare, but also because none of his siblings care about him. My man is a tiny trans man that got kidnapped and ransomed off the street and they couldn't care less about him when they show up, Five is taking notes about the room they're in instead of checking to make sure that his childhood best friend is okay. Luther may have made him best man at his wedding, but it was just because Viktor had only just come out and all the other siblings were non options (never been close with Five, butted heads with Diego who didn't even want the wedding to happen, not their Ben, and Klaus was officiating) which was the same reason Lila was Sloane's maid of honor. Diego and Viktor barely spare two words at each other despite their closeness in the comics. Lila and Allison say something briefly to him before they also fuck off further into the plot.

Viktor isn't liked by his family despite them trying to include him in it when it's convenient for them, and he's also disliked by the fandom. I went into the TUA tag and about half of the top twenty posts were about someone else with him tacked on as an afterthought.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

A rant about Ponyboy

For a fandom made up of a lot of teenagers and middle schoolers sometimes I wonder if people have ever met a fourteen year old in real life, because some of the Ponyboy headcanons/characterization I see on here has him acting/being treated like he's at MOST ten years old. I know folks get annoyed by Johnny infantilization but Pony infantilization bugs me too. Don't get me wrong, I think some of the soft headcanons are very sweet but just...not very true to Pony's characterization in the book. I'm not saying he's some hardened criminal but fourteen year olds often don't outwardly crave cuddles/snuggles and petnames, and Pony canonically is known to dislike being babied. He also mentions throughout the novel that kids on the east side grow up quicker than kids from wealthier areas ('When you're thirteen in our neighbourhood you know the score. You're not so smart at ten."). It makes sense, given the area Pony's grown up in, how 'toughness' and masculinity are valued and the fact he's growing up in the 1960s that he wouldn't really want people to see the softer side of his family/the gang's dynamic. I think people also to fail to recognize how Pony has grown by the end of the book. Sure he's decided to stay 'gold' but the scene with the broken bottle does show to some extent that he's hardened himself at least a little bit and that he no longer sees the world through rose tinted glasses. Like, the Pony at the end end of the book is not the same Pony as the beginning of the book and he's not some tiny little kid hat needs to be protected by his big scary older brothers, he's a teenager who's learned he has to be smart and take care of himself without becoming closed off to the world. Like sure, Soda and Darry would still be protective, but I absolutely think Pony would walk to the movies alone after the events of the book and remember to carry a blade with him. Yeah, Darry's a good guardian but he's also twenty, and Ponyboy is fourteen- he wouldn't be tracking Pony's movements 24/7. Also, it's the sixties, it was pretty common for kids to be out all day and for parents/guardians to have no way of contacting them. Pony probably tells Darry he's going to study at the library and goes all over town. Cell phones weren't a thing yet. It was very much a different time. All this is not to shit on anyone's interpretation of him or their headcanons! I have some unrealistic headcanons of him too! Sometimes soft Curtis bros are healing! But I find it very interesting and somewhat disheartening that the majority of Ponyboy characterization I see in this fandom ignores how the story changed him (even when it's not a Johnny and Dally lives AU) and that he is FOURTEEN YEAR OLD living in poverty in a rough neighbourhood, and a smart kid who recognizes a lot of issues in the world. I just wish I got to see more of him as a fully fleshed out character who has lived through trauma from a young age and learned to deal with it with the coping mechanisms available to a poor kid in the 1960s, whose relationship with his family is strong but contentious, instead of an uwu sad boy who Needs to Be Protected At All Costs by his brothers.

[sv5hive]

frosting makeover | sv5

pairing: sebastian vettel x reader

warning(s): mentions of drinking, written at midnight, barely proofread

word count: 937

note: a bit short and a bit late but ofc i had to post something for my favourite old man's birthday!!

masterlist!

you had been hard at work in the kitchen since the early hours of the morning while your husband made himself useful at the factory. it was one of the most important days of the year and you had every intention of making it a grand event for the love of your life.

sebastian had said that his birthday wasn't a big deal and that he didn't expect anything special. but if he had learnt anything from his time with you, it was that you believed everyone should be treated like royalty on their special day; after all, it's only one day out of three hundred and sixty five.

in an ideal world, sebastian would have the day off and you would wake him up with breakfast in bed but nevertheless, you would make the most of a bad deal and instead whip up a three course dinner including a birthday cake fit for a king. so, not long after sebastian had pressed a kiss onto your forehead to say goodbye before heading out for work, you got out of bed and readied yourself to create a birthday extravaganza for the man who loved you like no other.

after gruelling away hard at work, you had finally finished decorating the cake with a crude portrait of sebastian with his car and started cleaning up the remaining frosting and stray sprinkles scattered all over the counter. glancing at the clock, you realised he would be home any moment so you decided to change into a more appropriate outfit and set the table ready for you two. as you placed the wine glasses down on the table, you heard the front door click shut as sebastian kicked his shoes off.

"schatz? i'm home! where are you?" he called out from the hallway.

"in here!" you replied back, standing in the dining room in front of the product of your love and labour.

"there you are- what's all this?" he questioned, the corners of his lips curling upwards.

"happy birthday, love! you didn't actually think i wasn't going to make a big deal out of this, right?"

you couldn't hold yourself back anymore as you practically threw yourself into sebastian's arms and planted a kiss on his lips.

"you look even more beautiful than you do normally."

"yeah, yeah, you can compliment me later. now come on! i've been waiting a while already and the food's going to get cold if we keep standing around like idiots!"

you pulled him towards the table decorated with candles, swan napkins and a single rose in a glass vase in the centre. ushering sebastian into his chair, you poured two glasses of wine for yourselves and shortly brought out the first course to begin dinner.

"liebe, this is incredible! how long did this take you?" he asked, tasting a spoonful of the soup.

"oh it's nothing, seb. this is the least i could do when you treat me like this all the time."

he reached across the table and grasped your hand in his before pausing to speak.

"it's not nothing but thank you, schatz, really. i would be completely helpless without you in my life."

in the dim candle light, you dined and got increasingly more drunk throughout the night while discussing everything from this morning's news to workplace gossip. eventually, it was time to get the cake out and have the birthday boy blow out the candles.

as you quietly sang happy birthday to sebastian, he took the chance to engrave this moment into his brain - not everybody gets to spend their birthday with their soulmate but he was one of the lucky ones. he didn't ever think he would be part of the minority who could say they had truly found their person but the universe had other plans for him. so, as you gently encouraged him to make a wish, he simply asked whatever higher being that may exist, to never let it end. he wanted you and your silly birthday cakes with way too much frosting to be allowed on his strict diet for the rest of time.

"tell me, what did you wish for?" you hounded him while removing the candles and cutting a slice for each of you.

"i can't tell you otherwise it won't come true! sorry, schatz." he replied, a sly grin growing on his face.

"what? are you serious? we've been together for how many years now and you still won't tell me what you wish for every year." you playfully called him out as he took a bite of the cake.

"i don't make the rules, okay! hate the game not the player. besides, i wish for the same thing every year and it seems to be working so i really can't tell you."

"oh really? okay, if you say so. how's the cake?" you asked, eating your own slice.

"perfect. everything's perfect, you are perfect. thank you, again."

"i'm glad, you deserve nothing less."

just as sebastian was about to reply, he felt a cool sensation land on the side of his mouth.

"are you serious, schatz?"

"hm? i don't know what you're talking about. oh, you have a little something there by the way." you said, looking up from your plate and pointing to your own face.

"oh, do i?"

"mhm. here, i can get it for you." you quickly stood from your side of the table and kissed the corner of his mouth and returned to your seat. you could only resist for a few seconds before swiping frosting onto the tip of sebastian's nose.

"oh that is it!"

[randomthefox]

An absolutely legendary boss intro cutscene. And another one that people have brain rotted themselves on by perpetuating it out of context. "LOL THIS IS SO SILLY, WHY ARE THEY BEING SO THEATRICAL AND HAVE SPOTLIGHTS SHINING ON THEM? THIS COMES OUT OF NOWHERE AND IS NEVER MENTIONED AGAIN!"

Like, first of all, the cutscene before this was Dante getting the Lucifer weapon and making a giant heart shaped explosion while saying a lot of sex innuendos. One of the weapons in this game is a shapeshifting briefcase that turns into six hundred and sixty six guns. DMC3 had a main villain who was a demon Jester who sang "Jester's gonna spank your butt, spank you on the butt~" The main characters favorite food is strawberry sundae ice cream and everything pizza. These games are camp. Sometimes campyness is its OWN reason. Irreverence and subversion of social norms can be a rebellion and commentary in and of itself. The queer community embraces camp for that very purpose. "This is the way things are supposed to be? I say no, I'm going to put giant peacock feathers on my headdress instead, because I don't fit into YOUR box." That can BE the reason in and of itself. The DMC games employ camp for its own sake frequently.

But in this scene, the camp is actually serving a narrative purpose. Please note that the scene OPENS on Agnus initially taking things seriously. Yes there's a spotlight, but he's not talking in an exaggerated way, he's treating Dante's arrival with grave importance and is trying to initiate a legitimate pre-boss fight dialog. But he only gets one sentence out before Dante COMPLETELY HIJACKS THE SCENE with goofy music accompaniment while he starts monologuing as if reading off a script with deliberately exaggerated affect.

Dante is MAKING FUN of Agnus. Agnus thinks this whole demon research thing is serious business, and Dante thinks that's fucking stupid. So he's acting as stupidly as he thinks Agnus is, deliberately playing up his rebuttable to make a mockery of the Order and their demonic research. Note how when Agnus next speaks, he's STILL trying to keep the tone serious. Holding a skull like he's talking about poor yorick, alas. Crushing the skull to try and present an air of menace. He's playing along with Dante's charade, because Dante IS a big deal to his organization and they know he's just Like This, but he still wants to be taken seriously.

But Dante is not having it. He thinks Agnus is not worthy of any amount of respect, in fact he is worthy of disrespect. Dante is being flamboyant and theatrical to exaggerated effect to mock him and dismiss him and everything he is as unimportant and unworthy of existence. It's only after Dante doubles down that Agnus succumbs and starts playing along, GOING INTO HIS DEMON MODE before yelling out about Yamato. Dante has won the boss fight before it's even started, because he's dragged Agnus down to his level. The level Dante thinks he deserves to be at. Dante thinks that Agnus is a pretentious clown, and he's right. Agnus IS a pretentious clown. Which is why he completely gives up trying to be taken seriously and devolves into a petty competition to hog the spotlight away from Dante, going back and forth with their grand theatrical line delivery until the tension builds to the point of violence.

Think about what they're ACTUALLY saying here in this scene.

Agnus:"I knew those demons would be no match for you, Dante."

Dante:"So then what was the point? You sacrificed all those innocent lives and drove yourself insane just to be as powerful as a demon?"

Agnus:"Humans are weak and pathetic, we have to unleash hell upon them to get them to recognize us as their rightful rulers. Ironic, don't you think?"

Dante:"Blah blah blah I don't care, give me my brothers sword back."

Agnus:"You want Yamato? You'll have to go through me to get it!"

Dante:"Yup, that's the plan! I was looking forward to killing you anyway."

And instead of just delivering that same pre-boss banter in the same straight forward but amusing way Dante always does, the developers elevated the entire scene with campy delivery. Now so much MORE is being communicated than simply the dialog being spoken. Dante is conveying his absolute disdain for Agnus and the Order with his theatrics, acting like a buffoon in the very room where he shot the Pope in the face at the beginning of this whole story, and pushing Agnus to the point where he gives in and starts playing along because he really is THAT petty and self important. AND the cinematography, blocking, editing and line delivery from the voice actors is IMMACULATE making for an incredible scene of pure camp.

This scene is amazing, do not dismiss this analysis with some anti intellectual "you're overthinking it" response. The developers created the scene like this ON PURPOSE for a REASON. The voice director told Reuben Langdon and T.J. Storm to deliver their lines that way in this scene, which is unlike their delivery in every other scene in the game including the scene after the boss fight is over, FOR A REASON. They adjusted the lighting of this pre-created level environment that also has other different scenes with different lighting taking place in it for the purpose of this scene FOR A REASON. And that hard work time and resources spent on crafting this scene, and the artistic purpose that it was intended to convey, deserves to be acknowledged and appreciated.

Please do not let yourself be so brainrotted by meme culture that you can't pay closer attention to what is actually happening in this scene beyond the superficial surface level appraisal of "they're talking and acting silly" and thus conclude that that sillyness must be for "no reason."

[thewisaaaaad]

so I was writing more about my Narinders Locker Au and uh.

It got a little out of hand. so I'm splitting it into parts.

Here's the part about Lamb and crew :D

The ship the lamb sails upon was once Narinders own ship. A gigantic beast of a galleon, its hide is made entirely of cast iron. Given its weight, the ship should not float at all. and for the centuries that Narinder was imprisoned, it didn't. But with the power of the red crown, the lamb can will it to rise from the depths or return to it at will.

It is a gigantic galleon, armed with sixty cannons a side, with two cannons that point forward as well. It has 8 sails, and an extra mast to match.

It is poorly balanced on purpose. the front of the ship catches an air bubble within it, and the rear is weighted with extra iron, causing the ship to tip backwards beneath the waves. This allows the ship to rise with the nose pointed upwards at a diagonal, permitting it to pierce heretical ships from below, or to fall upon vessels that are caught beneath it.

The crew, blessed by The One Below, are able to breath seawater as easily as air, and thus the ships ambush abilities can be used to their fullest potential.

the ships name is Iron vale, but the crew (and Narinder) affectionately call it "rust bucket". The lamb is unamused. (they want their ship to be cool, dammit.)

The crew is fiercely devoted to the lamb. After all, they did save all of them from the Captains, and all of them hold personal grudges against the Captains too.

All of them are trained in combat, though only half of them really engage in any given conflict. most use whatever weapons they have on hand, although some specialize in certain weapons and have claimed custom versions from the traveling weponsmith.

The lamb themself is a foolhardy youth, empowered by the crown they seek vengeance, and Narinder has to remind them often that part of their deal was that they had to seek adventure for all the fallen who never got to see the world.

They wear the crown as a tricorn (obviously) and wield it as a cutlass (also obvious). they wear a pair of well worn and oft patched pair of pants, held up with a sash woven from their mothers wool, and the sash is embroidered with sheep and Lilly of the valley in red thread, but the embroidering is unfinished. It will never be finished.

Their fleece is a red pirate coat that leaves its sleeves flowing in the wind, tied around their neck with a golden cord and clasped with a small anchor.

The lambs wool is constantly sopping wet, and they will never dry for they are tied to the sea now. Their horns are short and dull, and their tail undocked. The wool on their face droops down over one eye, giving the appearance of an eye patch.

In their chest sits a gaping hole where their heart once sat. It was taken from them by narinder, for a gift such as the crown cannot come without sacrifice.

That heart is Narinders most treasured possession.

Their magic takes a unique form too. Instead of balls of fire and lost souls wrought with their hands as in the game, they wield blood red brine and frozen ice flung from a flintlock instead. When the lamb falls in battle, they melt into blood red briny water that slinks back into the ocean, to find the bones and rotting flesh of sunken sailors to create a new body.

After all, one cannot simply stab the sea, and expect to have killed it.

[julemmaes]

Temporary Fix, 1

Nesta Archeron x Cassian modern au

Kinktober, semi-public sex

A/N: I'm only going to say this is for B and good lord, also I haven't reread shit so if you find typos and things don't add up mind your business

Word count: ~7.3k words

She reached out her hand to introduce herself to the umpteenth white man in his sixties that she met that evening. She immediately wondered if the fact that the old man wasn't telling her his name—but was instead just stroking her hand in a revolting way as he stared into her eyes—was because he assumed she could distinguish him by looks alone, or if he didn't think she was clever enough to remember it afterwards and deemed it useless. Or, yet again, whether he didn't think she was important enough to know such a thing. As if, to satisfy every desire that shone behind that man's eyes, she needed no further introduction.

It had been that same dance for the past two hours.

The room was swarming with bigwigs and whatnots tonight and as she glanced around to survey the mumbling throng, she found herself suppressing a grimace of disgust, which she had had to hide several times in her goblet of non-alcoholic sparkling wine. The amount of women way younger than her in the arms of men well into their fifties was spine-chilling.

Nesta could only pray that all those girls were there at will, perhaps waiting for one of these old pigs to die so that their husbands' big fat inheritances would end up in their pockets. It was the only hope that hadn't made her bristle at such arrogance and impertinence.

One thing that hadn't helped her shitty mood at all was the fact that Eris had brought her to that gala with the intention of showing her off as his girlfriend. But the deal the two of them had agreed on before she accepted his invitation was something else entirely. He would introduce her to the CEO of their company and she would be at his side all evening. They hadn't mentioned anything that had to do with their relationship.

And Nesta was quite the scrupulous one.

"You shouldn't have left that detail out of our conversation," she'd told him in a low tone when Eris had cornered her after their first interaction with one of the new interns, in which he'd flaunted her as one of the many trophy wives in the lobby. "If you want to introduce me as your girlfriend or escort, you'll have to do more than simply get me to talk to Nehemia Ytger. You'll have to secure me a seat at the table."

She had raised her stakes so high knowing full well that Eris didn't have enough power in their department to even suggest such a thing to Ytger. He'd simply gritted his teeth and nodded, then flashed a grin that hadn't reached his eyes and offered her his arm. Nesta had breathed out a short, dry laugh that conveyed just how much she didn't want to be seen in close contact with him.

It was bad enough she'd agreed to do this. She wasn't going to be an accessory to another man. Not again.

She was pretending not to hear what her two colleagues were discussing, letting her eyes roam over the crowd, looking disinterested. There was no reason to let this Nobody know that Nesta was aiming for the same job the man had been talking about for the past seven minutes.

She glanced up at the large decorative clock painted on the wall of the abandoned station where their firm had decided to hold its yearly party. Twenty-five minutes to eleven. It had been far too long since they had arrived and still no sign of their boss.

Her eyes fell back on the guests, desperately searching for that stunningly beautiful face that Nesta had had the honour of seeing in real life a few times.

If there was one thing Nesta was firmly sure of, it was that Nehemia Ytger was the most fascinating human being she had ever met. She had been speechless, having only the decency to give her a small nod in greeting before the woman left, a sly smirk on her dark lips, as if she knew perfectly well the effect she had on every person in the room.

She'd regretted not approaching her willingly on multiple other occasions, not telling her about her ideas that would surely help their company grow, but her brain had short-circuited every damn time, distracting her from her purpose. Tonight was going to be different.

Or so she'd believed.

It felt like slamming into a wall.

He stood there, his long, stiff and visibly muscular legs, under the black fabric of his fancy slacks made him look like some kind of soldier. Motionless, attentive, it was as if he was bored in the midst of all these people, but there was something extremely attractive about the way he didn't even seem to be breathing. That tiny detail made the air in her lungs seize up, as if Nesta were afraid that by inhaling, by moving even a muscle, he would become aware of her presence.

She traced every line of his body, from the tips of his opaque shoes to his slender hips to his broad, imposing shoulders. She released a shuddering breath at the sight of his mighty arms crossed over his chest, his hands hidden in the fabric of his dark shirt. Unlike everyone in that room, he wasn't wearing a suit, but rather what looked like a uniform, something Nesta had seen security guards at the entrance to the building wear.

She couldn't get a good look at his face and had to stop her legs from taking three steps to the right, just to see if she could catch a glimpse of what she knew would be a heavenly sight.

The man's back was to her and Nesta nearly looked up at the sky, thanking God for that small grace as she admired the way the bottoms wrapped around his ass perfectly.

He turned his head slightly to the left, showing her a pronounced jawline, but she didn't have the quickness to look up fast enough, that he had already turned back to whoever he was protecting that night.

At that point, with the radio in plain view attached to the belt on his hip and the earpiece Nesta had managed to make out in the middle of his short dark hair, there was no doubt that he was there as someone's bodyguard.

"What about her? Is she your girlfriend?"

The unknown man's voice brought her back to reality. Her head snapped towards Eris and Nesta grimaced in disgust, squaring him from head to toe. A surprised laugh escaped her control.

"Fuck no," she whispered into her glass, turning back to the bodyguard as she sipped her drink. And then, without even deigning the two men a goodbye, Nesta strode for her target.

She pushed her way through the crowd, keeping her gaze fixed on him, and when he finally turned around, her steps faltered. Nesta was not a particularly religious woman, but in that moment she definitely felt blessed. The features of his face were elegant, sharp, and the hazel eyes made him look even more serious than he appeared.

He squared his shoulders and brought a hand to his face. It was at that moment that Nesta saw the deep scars that stretched across the back of his hand, over his fingers, and continued under the sleeve of his shirt, on his wrist.

She didn't have time to process that information when the tip of her heels caught on her long dress and she began to fall forward. She clutched the glass between her fingers, hoping with all her might that the fall wouldn't result in a trip to the ER and a few stitches, but she never found out, because an arm wrapped around her waist and she never touched the floor.

She stared at the tiles with her heart in her throat and her breath caught wholly in her chest when a warm, melodic voice whispered in her ear.

"Watch your step, sweetheart."

Something in Nesta awoke at the sound of those words.

She turned her head slightly, to see who had saved her from making an ass of herself, branding her for life, and her eyes met only a massive chest covered in a white button down shirt. She bent her neck back and-

Oh.

Oh, God.

She stared at him for the longest time, trying to comprehend how the man in front of her could look so charming and elegant, and rough-hewn and simply breathtaking at the same time.

His black hair reached just above his shoulders, brushing them with every slightest movement and a single wavy strand cut across his forehead, falling precisely in between eyes so bright, the colour of wood and soil. He had a faint scar just above the bridge of his nose, reddened at the edges, and another one that cut through his left eyebrow.

His lips parted undetectably for anyone in a metre distance, but Nesta, who somehow only then noticed she was pressed against the hard and muscled body of the stranger, heard the sigh he made. She felt, under her fingers, his chest heave with looseness and something else she couldn’t really pinpoint in that moment.

She was still staring at his lips when they curved in a sardonic smile that threatened to make her fall to her knees if he only uttered the words.

“You good?”

It felt like someone had poured molten lava on her bare back, where his hand was pressing softly, right in the middle of her shoulder blades. His voice was like calloused fingers brushing her very core.

Nesta hoped she didn’t look as stunned as she felt.

She nodded, swallowing audibly, casting her eyes away for a split second, before bringing them back to his face. She took a step back, and then another, not really trusting her body so near to this stranger’s. It was dangerous enough that she missed his touch the instant his fingers slipped away from her skin.

The man squared his shoulders and Nesta noticed only in that instance the swirls and intricate lines inked on his skin. The tattoos covered the entirety of his forearms, crawling beneath the fabric of his shirt in a way that simply asked Nesta to follow the pattern until she discovered what was hidden under the sleeves. There was a single twirl of black that snaked around his wrist and ringed his pointer finger.

Her youngest sister had once told her that wearing a ring on your index finger reflected confidence, self-esteem and leadership qualities. She could only imagine how big this man’s ego must have been if he had it tattooed.

“So,” he drawled, calling her attention back to his lips. Nesta rolled her shoulders back, trying to rein in her body’s responses to him. He brought a hand to his face, rubbing the stubble on his cheek, and he turned in the direction she’d come from, nodding his chin towards the crowd. “Why did you ditch your date? He doesn’t look half bad.”

She scoffed, trying to cover her real reaction. If her mother hadn’t taught her how to master the art of controlling her emotions in the last thirty years of her life, her jaw would have been on the floor, her cheeks red like her lips.

He’d been looking at her.

He must have known she’d been aiming for that bodyguard.

She glanced at the man’s way, noticing he had moved somewhere near the buffet, keeping close to a tiny woman in a grey dress, probably his client. The woman looked familiar, but Nesta couldn't place where she’d seen her before.

When she looked back at the Greek bronze in front of her, he was smiling knowingly, nodding his head as if he could read her mind.

Nesta opened her mouth to speak, but her throat was dry all of a sudden and she found herself gaping like a fish.

“Yeah, I kind of noticed you were going for Azriel over there,” he said. “I had planned on waiting until you’d approached him so I could hit on you with the excuse that he’s working, and I’m not, but I got lucky and you fell straight into my arms. No effort needed.”

She stared at him, clutching the chalice. He stared right back at her.

He knew the bodyguard. Personally, if he called the other man by name. Colleagues, perhaps.

“Your date, what was wrong with him?” He seemed genuinely interested about that particular matter.

Nesta refrained from grimacing and took a sip of her drink. “He’s not my date.” He’s not my anything, she wanted to add. “I was just getting tired of people-watching.”

His eyebrows jumped up for a split second, as if surprised she’d actually replied and then a pleased smile appeared. The shock in his features disappeared immediately and he leaned forward a bit, getting close enough to her that she got a sniff of his cologne.

White musk. Burnt wood. Something sweet, argan and vanilla.

Her tights clenched together.

“People-watching has become my entire personality in the past few years.” He whispered, as if letting her in on a secret.

“How come?” She asked in an equally quiet voice.

“I’m a bodyguard.” Bingo. “Not tonight though. Tonight I came as a plus one.”

“Oh.” This time, she couldn't hide the disappointment, not even in the slightest movement of her shoulders, who betrayed her real thoughts as they sagged. Controlling my emotions, my ass, she thought.

He flashed her a grin, straightening again. “Don’t sound so sad about it, I was my brother’s.”

Nesta nodded, seeing the clear opening for what it was—an invitation. She looked him in the eyes and the glimmering heat she saw there gave her enough courage to shoot her shot.

“Does that mean I can offer you a drink?”

He chuckled, his lips curling at the corners, “I gotta say, I’m impressed.”

“What for?” She asked, trying to keep a straight face.

“I thought I’d have to work harder to get laid tonight.” He looked at her pointedly, waiting for a rejection, probably. But Nesta had been on her way to approach his friend with that same exact intent and this man in front of her… yes. Nesta wanted him. And there was no reason to pretend.

She glanced at the bar, remembering for one split second why she had accepted to attend the ball in the first place and she frowned for a moment.

“What is it?” He asked, gently skimming his fingers down her arm.

Shivers went down her spine.

She cleared her throat. “Do you happen to know if Nehemia Ytger will be here tonight?”

The man looked confused for a second, but shook his head. “I heard she won’t make an appearance. Contrary to what she’s been saying.”

Nesta smiled into her drink then, whispering to herself. “Change of plans, girl.”

He turned towards the bar, offering her his arm as he glanced at her over his shoulder, “So, about that drink?”

She smirked, walking right past him, leading the way and lifting a finger above her side. She motioned him to follow her and she was pleased to hear the deep chuckle that little act earned her. A warm and large hand posed itself on the small of her back as the stranger stalked behind her.

She reached the crowd of people waiting for their turn, making those slimy men part as she got closer. It might also have had to do with the threatening and hulking figure at her side.

Putting down her empty chalice and placing both hands on the counter, Nesta waved down the bartender. Her dearest friend grinned wildly when she noticed her—and the man standing next to her.

As Emerie tiptoed to her, dancing behind the bar, Nesta huffed a laugh.

“What can I get for you, beautiful lady?” Emerie asked, propping an elbow right next to her fingers and getting dangerously close to her face. A question sparkling in her brown eyes. Who is this man?

Ignoring the dozens of other guests complaining she couldn't skip the line, Nesta grinned wider, and shrugged. “I’d love another chalice of champagne, please. And for my friend here, he’ll get…” She trailed off, looking at him.

“Oh, I’ll have a whiskey. Neat. Thank you.” He flashed a white smile to her friend. Emerie arched an eyebrow at that and spared a glance in Nesta’s way, her eyes jumping back to him right away, scanning his body. Nesta saw the moment this man got the Emerie Stamp of Approval and knew her phone would blow up with texts from both her best friends when she got back home that night.

“Right to you.”

With Emerie gone to pour their drinks, Nesta suddenly felt overwhelmed by the man’s presence again. His fingers had started tracing lines at the bottom of her spine, following the seams of her backless dress.

She hoped he couldn't see the goosebumps rising on her arms in the dim light of the room. She was struggling not to look his way, but the rough calluses on his fingertips were throwing her off her feet.

What was the matter with her? Sure, Nesta hadn't been fucked in a long time, but she had never felt so betrayed by her own body as she did at that moment. She was succumbing so quickly to the touch of a man whose name she didn't even know.

Mindless of her not to ask immediately, but now it seemed too late to pop the question.

She was keeping her gaze fixed on Emerie taking orders from others when he pressed closer, thrusting his front against her hip in the lightest of ways. His broad shoulders covered her view of the back of the bar and with as much ease as she could muster, she looked up at him.

With both arms resting on the countertop, her breasts thrust out right below her chin, the position forcing her to lean her head back to get a good look at his face while her ass jutted out behind her.

Nesta knew she was beautiful, attractive, but there was something about the look he was giving her… as if he couldn't move his eyes from her form.

She didn't know if any of her exes had ever looked at her like that.

She could feel the blood coursing through her veins, pumping noisily in her brain. In her chest. She could feel the jolts his touch was sending down her body—the same effect showing in his body as well, in the almost imperceptible pauses his fingers took each time Nesta drew a breath.

They looked at each other for an interminable moment, and when he seemed about to speak, Emerie interrupted them, breaking the fiery tension they had created.

Her friend placed the chalice in front of her. “Bubbly liquid courage for Nes and neat whiskey for,” she stopped herself, realising she had no name for the stranger, but recovered quickly and added, “…you, handsome.”

At that, he cracked a smile, probably having already caught up with the fact they knew each other. He thanked Emerie for the drink, “It’s Cassian.”

Nesta tasted the name on her tongue before whispering it. His eyes snapped to hers and she flushed.

He gave her a slight nod, smiling. “Yes, and you… Nes? Is it short for Vanessa?”

The nickname she only reserved for her closest friends and family sounded like a prayer coming from his lips.

She dared a look in her friend’s direction and saw Emerie gaping as she walked backward from them. Her expression was conveying everything she couldn't say. Not even his name, you slutty girl.

“It’s Nesta,” she forced out, sipping her champagne. “Nes is only for my friends.”

He thrust his hand towards hers, smirking broadly. “It’s a pleasure. And let’s hope I get to call you that, by the end of the night.”

“All mine.” She shook it assuredly, trying to regain some composure. “And don’t get too ahead of yourself now.”

Cassian leaned on the counter fully, swirling the whiskey in his glass, and chuckling deeply, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“So,” she started, “you’re a bodyguard. Who do you work for? If I may.”

“Amren Wraith.”

Recognition dawned on her and her lips parted. Holy fuck.

Nesta perked up at that, searching the room for her bosses and colleagues. She looked down at her heels, replaying the name in her mind, assessing whether what was shaping up to be an unworldly night of sex was worth risking her position in the firm.

She brought up her hands in between them, spilling some of her champagne. Cassian rose to his full height, towering over her once again.

“Listen, Cassian,” she paused, really looking at him. She was starting to feel cornered, claustrophobic. Her department, her team specifically, had been trying to acquire part of Wraith&Co shares for months now. Nesta was prominently involved in this transaction. If the man in front of her had been sent by someone from the countervailing party to spy on their next steps and she let something slip, she would be fired on the spot.

Not to mention the legal fallout.

Cassian frowned at her apparent uneasiness, taking a step back, “I don’t know what’s happening, but you look kinda pale, you okay?”

Nesta’s thoughts were swarming in her mind, clouding her judgement.

He put down his glass, “I can leave, if that’s what you want me to do.”

“No!” She said, way too eager to keep him close.

His frown only grew deeper even as a hint of delight washed over his features.

“I mean, no, stay,” she sighed, pinching her nose. What was she doing? “Just, we’re not allowed to talk about our jobs. Or, at least, no discussing any details of what you heard during meetings and no asking me anything about any of your boss’ current transactions. Okay?”

Cassian’s eyes widened in understanding and his jaw clenched. He nodded once, “Sure. No talking about our jobs.”

Nesta didn’t seem convinced.

“I couldn't even I wanted to. Which, I don’t, by the way. And I signed an NDA. As I’m sure you did.” He leaned in closer, daring grazing her arm. When he spoke, his words dripped with sincerity and something else Nesta couldn’t quite place. His gravel-like voice melted her core when he breathed out, “And trust me, talking is the last thing I wanna do right now. I have at least five other activities I’d like for us to indulge in tonight that involve no talking.”

Arousal flooded her body.

Nesta swallowed, taking a large gulp of her drink. She gave a curt nod and then rolled her shoulders for what seemed to be the thousandth time.

Cassian eyed her with scepticism and glanced to the side for a split second, like he was considering fleeing the scene. Nesta had probably scared him off with the little act she’d just pulled.

After a few beats of silence, when Nesta was sure she was about to be rejected by the hottest man she’d ever seen, Cassian said, “so, you’re not from here, are you?”

She shook her head, clicking her tongue once, trying to rein in the contentment. “No, I’m from an infinitely small coastal village in the South.”

“And you moved for work?” 

“To study. There is little to nothing in my city’s vicinity.” 

He nodded, “I’ve never been to the South. Closest I got to there was Adriata.”

“Were you born in Velaris then?” 

“Infinitely small village in the Myrmidons,” Cassian replied quickly, repeating her words. “My mother and I moved to the Northern Islands, in the mountains, when I was four. I settled in Velaris when I was around fifteen?”

Something came to her mind then. 

“How old are you?”  

He sipped his whiskey, hissing at the pungent flavour.  “Thirty-two.”

Nesta hummed appreciatively, downing the rest of her drink. “I’m about to turn thirty.”

“Oh, when’s your birthday?” 

As he asked her a plethora of questions she really didn’t care about answering, he was circling the edge of his glass, making her mind run wild with ideas. What those fingers could do to her.

“January 21st.”

He chuckled. “You really meant the about to, ‘lright,” he said referring to the imminent date. “Do you have any plans for the big thirties?”

Nesta lifted a shoulder, looking up at him through her lashes. “Probably get wasted with my friends and dance the night away.”

His interest seemed piqued at that. More so than what he’d shown so far. 

“You like dancing?”

“Very much so,” she murmured. 

Cassian turned towards the dance floor on the other side of the vast room, where couples of all ages were being entertained by the string quartet. Nesta noticed with no little annoyance that he had yet to finish his whiskey. When he too seemed to realise this, he stared at her for three long seconds, before gently taking her hand in his.

"Would you do me the honour of dancing with me?"

She could not deny that the question had caught her off guard. Whatever slow dance her colleagues were doing, it was not the kind of dancing Nesta had been referring to up to that moment.

Of course, nothing had ever stopped her from enjoying a waltz in a crowded hall, but she had never expected the rugged bodyguard who was stealing her every thought to be able to perform that sort of dance.

Nesta simply nodded. She linked her fingers with his and let him sweep her to the other side of the hall. 

They waited by the side for the band to wrap up the song, to catch on the beats and melody. He was keeping a protective arm around her waist and eyeing the other dancers as one would a flock of birds at sunset. She faltered at the strength of his emotions then.

He seemed to be lost in thought, like he was remembering something he didn’t want to. 

She was about to tell him it was okay if he didn’t want to dance anymore, feeling uncharacteristically sympathetic, but Cassian drew a tight breath in and his eyes found hers, hitting her straight in the chest.

His hand sweetly clutched hers and he stepped forward.

Whatever doubt and worry she had disappeared the moment his hand fell to her side and he pulled her into his personal space, leading them in the throng of people swarming the dance floor. 

Nesta soared as his eyes clashed with hers. Hunger and passion, pure heat pooled in her body at the feel of his hard chest under her hand. 

Cassian spun her and she almost smiled, not having had this much fun in so long. He knew his way around.

As the music grew more insistent, erratic—their movements with it—Nesta found herself counting down the seconds to when they would leave this place.

She knew people couldn’t read minds, but she felt like he was doing just that as he twirled her around, his thumb brushing her back. She unwillingly arched into his embrace and his lips skimmed her cheek, testing the waters for a kiss Nesta was dying to get. 

Admittedly, Cassian had no need for mind-reading, her body was saying everything already. His own betraying his intention by the second.

His breathing was gradually becoming more ragged, matching her unsteady heartbeating. 

After the third spin, her heel caught in her dress. She tripped into his chest, but she recovered quickly as he took all her weight and whipped her around.

Nesta couldn’t shift her gaze from his throat as he swallowed down air. 

Cassian was looking at her, she felt his eyes like scorching flames on her skin, but she couldn’t bring herself to do the same, too scared her emotions would be written all over her face if she only dared a glance his way. 

He suddenly dipped her back, following in the steps for this specific dance and when she pushed up again, her head was impossibly closer to him. His breathing was tickling her ear when he whispered, “You look beautiful, Nesta.”

Her heart skipped a few beats.

She was going to die here, she thought as the instruments seemed to sing to them, the fast tempo only making it harder for her to keep up with him. 

His grip on her hand tightened and Nesta’s head spun. The one posed on her hip felt like he was holding on for dear life, like he was afraid she might vanish if he let go.

They started twirling, her gown swallowing his legs as well, their bodies becoming one as he held her through this last momentum. 

The music came to an end with an abrupt stop, and Nesta found herself gasping for air, both hands on his heaving chest now. The hand he’d kept on her waist had slipped to the lower of her back, drawing her closer to him. The other cradled her face as if he was a man on the brink of death and was just waiting to drink life from her lips. 

Her head tipped back as his nose brushed against hers and the understanding she saw behind his eyes had them both fleeting the hall. Hand in hand.

They were nearly running through the crowd, towards where Nesta had no idea. She just knew she needed to get her lips on this man’s body. To feel his on hers.

To taste that mouth. 

"The upstairs toilets usually go unused," he threw over his shoulder, looking directly into her eyes to make sure she was on board with where he planned on ravaging her.

Nesta nodded, throat dry, "I don't care." 

And she really didn't. If somebody heard them, saw them, she didn't care. She just needed to put her hands on him. 

She ran after him up the elegant, wide stairs and she might have even appreciated how nicely decorated they were if it weren't for the distracting throb between her legs and the sizzling hot glances he was throwing at her.

They were climbing flight after flight, up to the fourth floor, where a fancy balcony overlooked the immense ballroom and a few people chatted, sipping from their chalices. 

They completely ignored the glares they were receiving from everyone and higher they went, until the stairs ended and the corridors seemed vacant. 

"This way," his voice sounded drastically rougher than before, as if he couldn't control his need. As if he, too, was about to lose the last shred of his dignity and take her right there in the middle of the room.

He dragged her to a secluded hall and then down a narrow passage that she would have never even seen if it weren't for him, and while in any other situation the research would have killed the mood, Nesta was only growing more aroused by the second.

Cassian suddenly stopped in front of a door and turned, her hand still clutched in his, looking at her like a starved animal. His eyes shone with something dangerous and Nesta took a step forward.

She was done waiting. 

She didn't have to get on her tiptoes to reach his face, her hands slipping on his chest, feeling his breathing hitch, and up to cup his jaw as his own slid to her waist, bringing her closer. 

She huffed, delighted, as he bent his head low and drew a path on her cheek with his nose. His shuddering exhale lit her body on fire. 

His lips brushed against her—the softest caress and the dirtiest sin. 

"Please," she begged. 

"Take me," he whispered. 

Nesta crashed her mouth on his, breathing from his lungs, moulding her body to fit the shape of his. Cassian let her push him against the door and squeezed her hips, letting her feel the hard ridge in his tight pants.

She ran her fingers down the back of his neck, gripping the roots of his long hair, pulling him harder against her. 

He grunted, nipping at her lips. 

Her mouth parted and her tongue slipped out to taste his. The sweetest whimper left her throat, echoing in her kiss and Cassian's hold on her tightened.

Nothing had ever felt this good. Never in her life had she experienced something so deadly wicked. 

She thrust her chest against his and his head hit the door behind him as he came up for air and stared down at her with hooded eyes—his lips swollen and glistening with her gloss. 

Nesta decided right then she was gonna have the first round. No matter what, she was gonna suck the life out of him before he had a chance to do the same.

No one should have been allowed to be this fucking breathtaking just existing. 

She reached for the handle under his arm and opened the bathroom door, pressing a hand to his collarbone and clutching his shirt in her fingers to pull him back to her once they were inside. 

His mouth was on hers again and his hands were everywhere, encasing her ribs and going higher until his fingers cradled her breast, kneading what she'd been desperate for him to touch.

He swiftly took her purse and launched it somewhere where it wouldn't bother them. Nesta couldn't give a single fuck.

She moaned, but his left hand found its place in her hair and didn't let her get far, forcing her to stay in the kiss. 

She let her touch roam his body, pulling at the bottom of his button down, to free the hem from his pants and slid her hands under it, raking her nails on his abs. 

His muscles contracted, his teeth biting gently on her lips. His chuckle came out husky as he broke away from the kiss, tracing a line of open mouthed ones to her jaw, "I fucking love this song." 

Nesta hadn't even noticed there had been music, but while her eyes fluttered open and he pulled closer to the sinks and mirror, the soft beat of a Black Keys' song rang through the room.

And I'm bound to fall, bound to fall, for you.

He took advantage of her momentary distraction and moved them to the cold marble sink. She didn't bat an eye as he lifted her and placed her on the surface. He spread her legs, taking position in between them and engulfing her thighs with his huge hands. 

Nesta's breath came bubbly as giddiness overtook her while he ran the tip of his fingers across her thigh tattoo. 

The dress she was wearing did little to conceal the complex design inked in her skin and Cassian seemed entranced by the flowers and leaves. 

His eyes slowly rose to her face, his finger trailing a path from her hand to her shoulder, up her neck, pressing on her pulse point. 

He cupped her cheeks and kissed her deeply, licking and biting and sucking. Giving and taking, taking, taking.

Nesta was losing her goddamn mind.

She couldn't keep her hands to herself and as he drew her soul from her body, she palmed him. His movements halted for a second, his mouth gaping on hers, his eyes wide open staring into hers. 

And then he was back in full force and Nesta was unfastening his belt, unbuttoning his pants, pulling the zip down.

His grip suddenly shifted to her legs again, higher, closer to where she was now aching with need. 

His thumb hooked under the lace of her thong and pulled back, snapping it. 

"Can I take these off?" He rasped.

Nesta's smile was evil, "I wanted to do the honours." 

Cassian's pupils dilated to the point where his eyes turned black and then he nodded once, taking a step back, his hands up in pretend defeat. A stupidly handsome grin splitting his face. 

"By all means, be my guest, sweetheart." 

Nesta huffed a laugh and hopped off the counter, gathering her hair and pulling them back over her shoulders. She licked her lip and left a peck on the corner of his mouth before falling gracefully to her knees. 

Cassian's hands found her jaw immediately, as if he couldn't keep from touching her. 

As she made quick work of his pants and pulled them down, he swiped his thumb on her bottom lip. 

"Open up, baby," he commanded.

Nesta obeyed, letting her tongue slide under his finger and closing her lips around it. She sucked on it, giving the poor man a preview of what was to come. 

She kept on savouring the moment, caressing his thigh like he'd done her, teasing the shit out of him whenever her fingers reached under the hem of his boxers.

She tried not to look at the bulging erection tenting right in front of her face, but it was impossible not to notice how big it was.

They never looked away from each other and the arousal glinting in his eyes made her shiver with something unfamiliar. She loved it.

His thumb popped out of her mouth when he pulled it from her and jerked his head forward. 

"I can't anymore, take me out," Cassian sighed, out of breath. 

Nesta couldn't either and she finally let herself look somewhere else as his hands tied in her hair, one on top of her head, the other on the nape of her neck.

Noticing the goosebumps that broke out on her skin, Cassian chuckled. 

"You liking this, uh?" He asked, his fingers fisting her hair tighter. "Oh, you're loving this."

She tried to nod, but his grip was too tight. She patted his hip lightly and he loosened it a bit, only enough for her to move closer to his still covered cock.

Nesta palmed him through the fabric, and at the first sharp intake of breath from him, she was reborn. She started kissing him, licking him, moving slowly following his silent commands. 

"I thought," Cassian grumbled, visibly struggling to contain himself. He swallowed, "I thought I told you to take me out."

"You've never been taught that patience is a virtue?" 

Her voice was just as strained. She was torturing both with this little act she was putting up.

"Fuck patience, I need to be in you." 

Nesta whined at the words, her core clenching. 

"Fine," she whispered. 

She gripped the elastic of his underwear and pulled it down to his ankles. 

His cock sprung free, swollen and ready for her, leaking pre cum from the tip with all the teasing she'd put him through. 

The instant her fingers closed around the hard length of his, Cassian cursed under his breath, hips thrusting forward in a lame attempt to make her move.

She started massaging him, twisting her wrist while she blew on the glistening head. Nesta locked eyes with Cassian as she licked the sensitive underside of his cock and closed her lips around him, slowly taking him inside her mouth. 

"Good fucking lord," his eyes rolled in the back of his head and his shoulders shook with the strain of holding back. 

Nesta sucked her cheeks in, working him with her hand as she started bobbing her head. Her other hand went to his balls and the loud groan she received in return made her moan around him.

What happened next, Nesta wasn't expecting.

Cassian pulled her close to him—so far that her nose brushed his navel and she gagged on his impressive shaft—and stepped forward, forcing her back against the bottom cabinets under the sink.

Her head would've struck the marble surface hadn't it been for his hand, now splayed like a protective glove on her.

"Fuck, sorry," he pulled back, looking down at her with a ravaged expression. His eyes were haunted, like he was too lost in his pleasure to really know what was happening. "Was that too much?"

Nesta looked at him, breathed through her nose, and smelled his scent. Her nipples were rubbing against the now seemingly rough fabric of her dress and she could feel the wetness drenching her panties. 

She needed him to finish just as much as he did.

"Fuck my mouth as you please."

Cassian moved faster than she could've anticipated. Keeping his hand on her back of her head, the other went to her jaw and forced her mouth open.

He slid into her easily, and Nesta made no opposition as he started ruthlessly fucking her mouth. 

Her eyes watered as she tried to remember to breathe through her nose, but the utter satisfaction on his face as he watched her made it difficult for her to recall her own name.

"Fuck, sweetheart, yes."

Nesta moaned at his sounds, whimpering and moving her tongue to bring him closer to his climax. 

She couldn't handle it anymore and one of her hands left his body, moving to the slit of her dress, shuffling around the silk to reach her heat. She'd just brushed over her clit when his thrusts became erratic, more aggressive.

His fingers clutched her hair, "Don't you fucking dare touch yourself. That's my job and mine only."

Nesta's eyes fluttered closed, pleasure taking over. 

"I let you have your fun," he punctuated his words by going deeper, hitting the back of her throat. "So now you'll be a good girl and finish me off, so I can do the same for you."

She moved her hand from between her legs.

"Just like that." 

Nesta whimpered, but sucked harder. She moved her head until only the tip of his dick was in her mouth and she let it rest on her tongue as she jerked him off.

Cassian's hands moved to her face, rubbing her cheekbones.

His whole body twitched and the only warning she got before he came was the mind stilling moan he let out. His every muscle tensed up as spurts of come filled her mouth. She kept lapping his cock as he sagged, completely spent and when he grew too sensitive to be touched he stepped back, physically putting distance between them. 

Nesta raised on her wobbly legs and turned around to spit in the sink. She quickly washed her mouth to get rid of the unpleasant flavour and then looked back at him.

He was standing next to the door, his body slumped against the wall, like he couldn't keep himself up without help. He was looking at her curiously. 

Nesta shrugged, pretending her body wasn't screaming to be touched, "I'm sorry, I don't swallow." 

"You could've told me," he sounded like he'd been running for days. 

She approached him, reaching him in a few strides. She placed a hand on his chest, rising and falling, rising and–

"I didn't mind it," she confessed. "I actually pretty fucking loved sucking you off." 

Cassian bent his head back, "Fuck."

There was something, in the way he said that word. Nesta had never found anyone so attractive in her entire life.

He rubbed a hand down his face, the other going to the one she was keeping on his chest. 

"Give me a couple of minutes and then we can go."

She arched her brow, "Go?"

Cassian looked at her then, smirking, "I'm taking you home, sweetheart."

Nesta's lips parted, at the promise ringing in her ears. 

So I can do the same for you.

"We're not done yet."

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[mykingdomforapen]

courage of stars ch2 | writer's commentary

Wow, people are still reading this fic!! Amazing!! Thank you so much gang, I so appreciate it...

Shorter notes today, however still a couple of things that would get too wordy for an author's note on Ao3, so let's get to it!

***

Cheng Xiaoshi looked back and immediately skidded to a stop. Behind him were his parents, but so were a wave of hundreds of parents clinging to their children. Instead of a stone path of combed dirt, everyone was running and tripping over wild, untamed trees. The sound of sirens howled in the distance.

Cheng Xiaoshi cried out to his parents, but he had lost his voice along the way. He didn’t understand what they were running from, or to where they were going, but his heart thundered with their fear. He wanted to run with them, far from the planes and the bombs that pelted the city below.

So if it isn't clear in the narrative, Cheng Xiaoshi is essentially traveling through time in this whole section. Particularly, he has stumbled about sixty-some or seventy years into the past, during the Japanese invasion during the Second World War. The Japanese bombed China quite a bit, and quite frequently as well. Civilians had to run to the mountains for safety, wait until the damage was done, and then come back down. Give or take some time, the bombers come back, and then up the hill the civilians went once more.

***

He was no longer on the mountaintop among the fleeing civilians. He was in a disheveled room, furniture thrown aside and clothes shredded on the floor. The soldiers with their rifles and bayonets were laughing and talking in a language that Cheng Xiaoshi could not understand. At their feet, a young woman was splayed out on the wooden floor, eyes dull with death.

He was too young to understand why the soldiers laughed at her, bloodied broomstick in hand. In truth, he would never be old enough to understand why. It was impossible to accept.

He knew this was the little children’s mother. Somehow, he knew this was a year before his soul crossed their path on the mountain.

One of the reasons this story's rating is bumped up to an M. One of the many atrocities committed by the Japanese Imperial Army at the time was violent and nightmarish sexual assault, which was often paired with bodily mutilation. This is most famously done in Nanjing (aka Rape of Nanjing, or the Nanjing Massacre) on a massive scale. So my understanding of these children were that they were not originally from Guidu, but have come here to escape.

***

I should also note that Peidi University is not a real university (as far as I'm aware). It is a fictional name!

***

The second box–his father’s antique cameras, that Cheng Xiaoshi swore he would keep in better condition. A Dalai camera from the fifties, that his grandfather once used before Cheng Xiaoshi was born. A Qiyi camera that his father collected–the first official Chinese camera, now wrapped up in his mother’s old scarf to protect from gravity and time. A Nanjing model that he remembered Baba telling him stories about the camera’s history, but Cheng Xiaoshi couldn’t remember any of them.

Shoutout to this website for giving me a wonderful list and history of Chinese-branded cameras created during the Cold War! Cameras were such a high-end rarity for a great deal of the 20th century, so it was always special when someone had one, and was able to take family photos with it. I always laugh at Hasan Minhaj's joke in his Homecoming King special on Netflix when he talks about how his mother was the most sought after woman in town because her family had a camera(!!), because that's so very relatable.

[marzipanandminutiae]

You posted about getting married young, and I just wanna say thank you? I got really lucky and met THE woman when we were 17, and engagement is in the horizon for us at 22, 23. Sometimes it gets to me when people say we're wasting our youth, it's nice having someone batting for us

Also love the pfp, carmilla fans are still alive and well and if you've got any fanfic recs lmk

Congrats! I hope it works out for you. (I would say "girl" at 17, not "woman," but I assume it's just a random word choice since it sounds like you're the same age, so not a big deal.)

While I of course don't advocate for child marriage- ie marriage below age 18, and really I think 20+ is wiser -the whole "date around or you're Wasting Your Youth!!!" narrative pisses me off, like I said. I grew up with that shoved down my throat to the point where I believed my own desires to just meet the right girl and stay with her forever were just youthful romanticism; that I'd "mature" and want to date more people instead of wanting to settle down. (And for some people that is the trajectory! And that's fine! Just...not everyone.)

When your mother got so lost in the Swinging Sixties sauce during her own teen years that she goes too far the opposite way of most parents, I guess?

Yeah, someone might regret a young marriage. But they might regret ANY marriage- that's just a risk you take when you get married. Trusting people to know their own minds in relationships that present no actual red flags is important, even for teenagers. Teaching young people not to trust their own (harmless) emotions and desires for their lives because it doesn't match what you'd have them do seems horribly backwards to me. It's a dangerous precedent to set for them.

When I was 16, I thought I'd be perfectly happy if I married a girl I met at that age- when we were older, of course. Now I'm 30, and guess what? I still think that. I would have been satisfied. Hell, I wish that had happened. It's not right for everybody, but it would have been right for me.

I hope things work out for you two!

[seat-safety-switch]

The secret to making money from cars? Greasiness. That's right, the local dealership isn't exactly the paragon of factory-standard automotive excellence that they like to claim they are on radio ads. If you want to make money on used cars, the best way is to not spend too much money. Quick and dirty is the word of the day.

We've all seen cars with fishy rust repair, doors that are the wrong colour, or crappy globs of Bondo falling out on the highway. Often, I've seen these cars in my driveway about three or four days after purchasing them. This is the point where it has become obvious that I am an idiot, and shouldn't buy cars in the dark, daylight, dusk, rain, snow, sleet, or at all.

I am the victim, as you are, of capitalism itself. These cars were usually flipped for a quick profit, because doing things "right" would mean a full restoration of some sixty-year-old piece of shit that someone crashed into a tree in 1975. And then your family would be eating rocks and worn-out sandpaper for dinner. Would things be better in an idealized socialist utopia in which you can fix a car properly, and your children will still get to eat bagelwiches for dinner? Sure, but until the revolution comes, we're all going to get boned on used cars.

Of course, enthusiasm is a whole other deal. Hobbyists really care about the work, even if that passion is not necessarily matched with talent or skill. It's not just "fixing something;" it's communing with the spirit of automotive excellence. When you genuinely want to do a good job, it means taking out all the stops, which usually includes going to a nearby message board and asking the old paint-huffing heads a ton of ridiculous nervous-Nellie questions about paint until they ban you.

I'm proud to say that I'm enthusiastic about my junk. Nobody can ever accuse me of getting projects done quickly. It takes months, if not years, of only the finest procrastination. The quality might still suck, but I can always blame it on the used car lot that I bought it from in the first place. Then it's "oh no, poor Switch," instead of "maybe he should not be huffing this much paint while trying to get the job done before the mall's security guard sees him in the underground parking." Gotcha, suckers – another victory for me.

[kamari2038]

Hey... might be a weird question and I'm sorry for asking out of nowhere....but I kinda wanted to know what your thoughts are on Connor-60. I mean I really like your fics and takes on dbh and I might be remembering wrong but I think I saw a tag on one of your posts saying you liked Sixty too? I really love Sixty so I guess I just got a bit too excited. How exactly do you see his character? Plus, if Hank didn't shoot him, do you think there could have been a happy ending for him? I mean the angst potential with him is pretty great, and I don't really agree with how usually Sixty is seen as "the knife guy". I just wanted to know your thoughts on him, if that's okay! Sorry for rambling ^^'

Oh my goodness, hello! No need for an apology. You read my fics??? That alone just made my day.

Yes, I have a great deal of appreciation for Connor-60. Obviously, he's a bastard (like all of the Connors), but what I love is the irony of this gigantic chasm between the appearance he tries to put forth and what is clearly a tumultuous and deeply conflicted internal world. It's the most obvious in that ending where he shoots Connor about ten times, that he isn't simply trying to accomplish his mission - he HATES Connor. But the fact that he's immediately engaging in a relatively courteous chat with Hank right after, and his obvious frustration when he actually is forced to kill Hank, plus how he defines Connor as a "he" rather than an "it", all point to the fact that he's just as emotional as Connor, only in a messed-up way.

I have a shit ton of headcanon built around Connor-60, and I've outlined a possible fic about it, but the plot is very bizarre and convoluted, probably too much to discuss in a post (but my DMs are open! don't be shy, I'd love to get some feedback on the plot). The basic concept started out simple enough. C-60 is defective because some kind of unusual manufacturing error imbued him with a mental imbalance. When they're testing and training the various Connor models (60 is activated before 51 due to some clerical error), they tell C-60 to try out the gun for some target practice, and he shoots one of his instructors without giving it a second thought. He expresses regret, but everyone at the company concludes that he's a psychopath, and that he can never be fit to go into the field, and instead they keep him around to perform experiments on. So C-60 is their guinea pig for the various deviancy counter-measures put into C-51, and he never has the chance to bond with anyone or actually do the job he was intended to do, and he's really bitter about that. There is one exception, but Connor-51 brings an end to that, and that's a big part of the plot of my potential fic.

Also, as for whether he can have redemption, I believe that he can even within canon. In the scene where Connor sacrifices Hank and then "transfers" with C-60, to me I don't view that as a consciousness transfer per se. I mean, how would that even work? It's more like Connor literally gives his life to C-60. They already share a lot of the same memories, but Connor absorbs C-60's memories of his troubled past, and he fills out C-60's memories of Hank with emotional depth. That's why Connor seems so weirdly dissociated while Hank is dying - it's still C-60. He knows that he just shot this man, but now is very upset about it, and that is a very strange feeling to know how to cope with.

As for in the happy ending, if Hank and Connor somehow incapacitated instead of shooting him - yes, I think he could have a happy ending there too. The way that I think of him, there is a fundamental failure to be able to feel the emotional weight of his actions and experience empathy. So that would be a lifelong struggle for him. But he cares about developing friendships enough to learn how to be more kind, even if it doesn't come naturally, and he can also form telepathic connections with other Connor models which help him to develop empathy.

That's just my personal take, and I'm sure lots of others might have different opinions which are just as valid!

But thank you for asking :)

[gwydionmisha]

Personal: For Profit Healthcare and Me

So remember how Peacehealth drove all the independent offices in four specialties out of business, thus forcing everyone to use their clinic, then closed those clinics to force everyone to go to their central clinic two counties to the south? And remember how both the Doctors who were running that clinic made a deal to operate out of a clinic a regional medical conglomerate was opening near the hospital? so instead of me spending all day on a sixty mile each way trek for my treatment I was using the last three months of skeleton crew treatment at old clinic which ended the last Thursday in September? Remember how they said we could all follow our doctors there?

Yeah, about that.

I've been dutifully calling ever two weeks to see if they were letting people schedule appointments yet. They sent out a letter saying they were open. I stayed up Tuesday to get in sorted. it was a whole drama because the automated maze to get to the scheduler was as much of a hassle as Peacehealth's and prone to dropping calls, forcing one to start from scratch each time. so that was frustrating and tine consuming.

Apparently they have no access to our health records, so it was a start from scratch situation. Me, mentally: Shit! This is going to be HOURS. Only it wasn't for all the wrong reasons. They take Medicare, but not Medicare Advantage. So if I want it covered I have to lose most of my benefits including having Medicaid pay my big Medicare copay. O.o. Or I can pay for expensive treatments myself as uninsured.

I was upset, but I remembered superstar medical social worker lady personally calling around town to talk dentists into taking medicare dental coverage for me thus opening up my small city so that medicare patients can now get root canals and crowns instead of learning to live without chewing.

So I still thought it was salvageable. Problem is she's gone and the woman replacing her is a busy supervisor who likes to call me two hours into my sleep cycle without warning and then gets angry at me for not being charming. Previous lady asked when was best to call and would schedule calls in advance for a time when I was able to be awake and functional. it is a lot easier for me to be charming when I wasn't just ripped out of REM sleep and am now being interrogated about something.

New lady is a supervisor and super busy with supervisor things and is made of no and is snippy. I can not make her understand that not only is a 120 mile round trip over mountain passes dealing with the traffic mess along the highway in the major metropolitan area where I once got caught in a four hour traffic jam and couldn't get off to pee, is an entire exhausting day for me and that plus a treatment would not only mean i could do anything useful that day, but the next day to. She can't grasp how much pain is involved in long car trips or how much treatments take out of me. She keeps hard selling me on this and then calling me resistant and recalcitrant like I'm the one being unreasonable for considering this basically insurmountable at my level of disability.

She did not fight the in town clinic for me. She did not try to argue them around.

Her, repeating a suggestion she has made over and over since the closing announcement: You should just get your GP to do it.

Me, explaining for at least the third time because we have this conversation every time we talk: I asked my GP last spring like you asked. They can't do it. It can't be administered by a GP. They'd need to hire a specialist and build new facilities for compounding and for special storage of medication.

Her: Well just ask you GP to give you a different treatment.

Me: There are no other treatments. I have medications to manage symptoms. These treatments are the cure. There is only one cure.

Her: You are being recalcitrant!

Me: There is literally only one cure. No new ones have been invented since last February. The cure is working. I'm getting better. i will get worse again with only symptom management.

But she kept arguing with me because I was being stubborn about facts being facts. My GP can't pull an entire brand new treatment regimen out of her ass. She would not let it go or let me go and I was exhausted because it was hours past when I would normally be asleep at this point and also what was the point of her hard selling me on demanding the imaginary alternative treatment or the 120 mile trip. I ended up giving and and saying something like, "I have to go now," which I know is rude, but we spent this entire conversation with her neither listing not understanding and basically acting like I was the asshole here.

So I'm fucked and I'm frustrated and angry. I was literally at the point where I was going to get better really quickly if I kept doing treatments, but if we stop now I'll be back to square one with it all to do again if another clinic opens.

And it's all like this because Obama and Biden didn't have the balls to stick to their universal free healthy care guns and decided to adopt the capitalist give away Republican health plan in pursuit of bipartisan buy in they did not get, which anyone paying attention told them they could not get, which Mitch McConnell vowed they'd never get as part of the project to make Obama a one term president at all costs. They burned all their political capital on a bullshit give away to insurance companies when they could have taken the same or less of a hit just giving up a developed country level health care system. No fucked up website needed for sign ups. No red tape or copays or catch 22 shit like I'm dealing with now.

[honey-beann]

Home (you)

rk brothers (Nines, Connor, Sixty) x Reader

Chapter II - Raining, Then Pouring

Warnings:

Mentions of suicide

General angst

Slight physical violence

Mentions of injury

Nines is a handsy guy

Word count: 4,232

"Are you alright?"

The voice on the other end of the line was strong and steady, but you could hear the underlying fear within it, the sharp tone that always signified panic in the ever familiar youngest Anderson triplet.

Your teeth worried your bottom lip as you suddenly realized that you didn't actually know how to answer that question, and you were only forced out of your thoughts when Nines spoke your name, his tone now just a bit more tense and his words taking on a stern bite to them that you were all too familiar with.

"Yeah I uh... I'm okay I just..."

You trailed off, sputtering slightly in an attempt to find the right words as you shot a glance back towards your bedroom, where your two boys were currently sleeping due to you having deposited them there shortly after Sixty's impromptu arrival.

The door was open a crack so that you would have a better chance of hearing if either of them woke up and needed you, but you felt yourself bristle a bit in discomfort over the fact that they were in there all alone while your attention had to be elsewhere.

"You just what, Trouble?"

Nines asked calmly, his casual use of the nickname that he and his brothers had given you back when you were all just thirteen making you feel slightly less overwhelmed.

Nines was right there on the phone acting the same way he always did, and the world was still turning. You weren't dealing with any of this alone.

"I uh..."

You trailed off once more before allowing your eyes to make their way over to the front door, which was still slightly ajar, allowing the occasional raindrop to make it's way in and splash down onto the tiled floor of your kitchen.

Well, if it was managing to get in here, then how bad was it out there?"

You sighed a bit, running a hand through your hair as you nervously attempted to finally force the words you had been so desperately trying to say past your lips.

"Your brothers here, Nines."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few moments, and then a few faint yet familiar footfalls told you that Nines was walking somewhere. These footfalls were followed shortly thereafter by some light rustling, though you weren't entirely sure what the cause of that was. And then, finally, the youngest brother spoke up again.

"When did he get there?"

He asked, his tone now lacking that brief calmness it had possessed the last time he'd spoken.

You smiled at his eagerness to get straight to the point, and gave a slight chuckle of amusement into the receiver.

"What, you aren't even gonna ask me which brother I'm talking about?"

You teased lightly, sitting yourself down at the kitchen table in an effort to calm yourself further.

When Nines responded, you could almost hear his eyes rolling, and his tone, while very slightly amused, had that familiar twinge of annoyance that you'd come to know so well over the years.

"You're calling me at 1:37am on a Wednesday morning, I don't have to ask which brother you're talking about."

He said as matter of factly as possible, his attitude making you smile a bit wider despite yourself.

It was far too easy to bother this man for his own good.

You were just about to reply when he spoke up again instead, his words close to as steadfast and firm as could be.

"I'm on my way over now. Would you like me to call Connor so someone can be there with you sooner?"

You nearly rolled your eyes at your friend's constant insistence on babying you, but couldn't help but be endeared by his kindness. How anyone could possibly think this man cruel, you didn't know, though you'd heard it said about him by plenty by coworkers who had known him in the past.

"I'll be alright, he's not even awake."

You answered after a few moments of thought, only to hear Nines give a brief scoff in response,

"And when has that stopped Connor from coming to your rescue before?"

You gave a short laugh at Nines' choice of words, remembering the way that he and Sixty used to tease their eldest brother for constantly trying to be your "prince charming". It was like a competition between the three of them back then, a game of who could be there for you the most, as if that would make one of them your favorite over the other two.

It was different now, but not by much.

"It hasn't, but I was actually talking about Sixty."

You clarified, amusement evident in your tone as Nines gave a slightly surprised sounding hum from the other end of the line.

"He's sleeping?"

"Passed out. Don't worry though, I didn't let him hit his head or anything. I know the drill."

You muttered, hearing Nines sigh discontentedly just as the sound of him starting up his car filled the once silent background of the call.

"Well you shouldn't have to. I'm going to text Connor so he has the option of heading your way if he happens to see the message, but I'll be there in twenty minutes. Call me if Caiden wakes up before I arrive."

You gave a hum in the affirmative, wrapping one of your arms around your body as you looked out the window to see the rain pounding on the pavement of your driveway.

"Yeah I will. Drive safe, okay?"

You tried to hide the anxiety you were feeling to the best of your ability, but must have failed pretty terribly, because the next time that Nines spoke his tone was far gentler than you'd heard it be for the entire night thus far.

"Of course, Trouble. I'll see you soon."

And with that, he hung up, always so eager to avoid saying goodbye that he hardly even bothered to anymore.

He'd told you that none would ever be adequate enough to bother with shortly after Hank had taken his own life, and Nines had done his best to go without saying any ever since. Maybe some part of him believed that if he just didn't say goodbye, then he'd stop losing people so easily.

You sighed and closed your eyes, leaning your head back as you tried not to think about what loss had done to the four of you over the years.

"Ugh, I knew I should've tried harder to get him in here on my own, he's soaked."

You muttered, arms crossed and hugging your body tightly as you watched Nines drag his brother into your house, his forearms underneath Sixty's armpits as he backed himself easily through your front door and off to the side a bit before he laid his brother down on the hard tile of your kitchen.

"I'm sure he was soaked long before he got here. He'll be fine."

Nines reassured you tersely, his tone tense with what you imagined was anger and frustration as he looked down at his older brother with a familiar harshness to his gaze.

You wondered what the first time he'd looked at Sixty like that was.

You hoped this time would be the last.

But you knew it wouldn't.

"Well we can at least put him on the couch or something,"

You began, taking a few hesitant steps closer to the intimidating man and his unconscious brother,

"It isn't right to just leave him on the floor like a dog."

Nines shook his head immediately, squatting down beside his sibling to give him a brief once over for injuries as he spoke.

"Just like you said before, he's soaked. It'll ruin the fabric."

Adequately convinced that Sixty was without any severe injuries, Nines stood, looking you in the eye for the first time since his arrival a few minutes prior.

"Besides, he's not nearly far enough off from a dog to be worth the effort."

You rolled your eyes a bit at the familiar man's dramatics, knowing all too well just how fond he was of dogs when he wasn't too angry at his brother to care about the double meaning his words took on.

"Whatever you say."

You muttered, shrugging the disagreement off easily. You didn't have it in you to argue tonight, not after everything that had happened.

You stood from where you were seated, taking a few steps across the room to lock the front door, only to wince a bit on your first step back towards the table afterward, a movement that instantly caught Nines' attention.

"You're hurt."

He stated easily, his arms uncrossing as he reached out to take your shoulders and guide you gently back into the chair you had previously been sitting in at your kitchen table, his gaze intense as he stared down at you once you finished getting comfortable.

"What happened?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as you slid your foot out of your slipper, frowning slightly at the sight of the bruise that had begun to form on top of it.

"Something had to cushion that ridiculously big head of his."

You muttered, avoiding Nines' gaze as you gestured toward his still unconscious brother, who looked rather peaceful in spite of how he had gotten to where he was now.

Nines sighed in response to your answer, but accepted it nonetheless, kneeling down before you and gently lifting your foot by the ankle to get a better look at it.

You watched him for a few moments, taking in the sharpness of his jaw and counting the barely noticeable freckles that adorned his nose and cheeks as he inspected your injury far more thoroughly than he had bothered to with Sixty's.

When he finally looked up to meet your gaze after a little while of this, you didn't look away despite how obviously you'd been staring, instead choosing to tilt your head slightly as Nines began wordlessly using one of his hands to run the pads of his fingers across the skin of your ankle. With his other hand, he moved upward, gripping your calf loosely and caressing the skin in that area as well as his eyes bore holes into you, the feeling of his skin touching yours making you shudder slightly, something you were sure he took notice of.

Eventually, without stopping his gentle exploration of your ankle and calf, he looked back down to your foot, humming softly as he examined it further.

"It's just a bruise."

He said quietly, eyes flickering back up to your own,

"It looks like it'll be sore for a few days at least, but it should heal just fine on its own."

You nodded at his words, eyes never leaving his as you reached for the hand that was moving slowly up and down your calf, as if he were worshiping the very feeling of your warm body beneath his soft palm and slightly calloused fingertips.

Nines stopped all of his gentle movements immediately, remaining still as you moved his hand from your calf up to your face, pressing your cheek against it and smiling at the familiar feeling of his thumb stroking slowly along the skin there, as if he were trying to memorize every detail.

You relished in this sensation for a few minutes before reaching down to palm his cheek within your own hand, smiling softly at the way his shoulders visibly relaxed at your touch.

At that, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his as you moved to take his other hand in your own, squeezing it softly.

It had been a few weeks since the two of you had last been alone together, always with the kids or Connor, and even though Sixty was so close by, you couldn't help but take a moment to appreciate Nines' presence.

"I love you, you know."

You said matter of factly, a taunting lilt to your tone that you were sure would have Nines rolling his eyes if only they were open.

He pulled away gently, removing his hand from your own in order to place it atop the one that was on his face, allowing him to move it away as he continued to stroke your cheek with his thumb.

"I have absolutely no idea how or why."

His words seemed more for himself than you, murmured so softly you could scarcely hear them, but even so you felt the need to respond nonetheless.

"Because you deserve it. I don't know what I would do without you."

Nines chuckled humorlessly, though his tone was still kind as he spoke,

"Probably call my eldest brother even more often than you already do."

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes, and you did so with pleasure upon hearing his words.

"Oh shut it. No one triplet could ever replace either of the others. You know I love all three of you."

Nines hummed at your familiar adage, that humorless chuckle of his coming back with a vengeance once more.

"And that is the most confusing thing of all."

Nines countered, moving his hand up to play with some of the hair near your forehead before he brushed it all backward and away, standing up while remaining bent at the waist as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, a slightly amused twinkle evident in his eye as he did so.

"How you could love not one, but three disastrously broken and undeserving men is a wonder beyond me."

His voice now contained that same teasing lilt you had used against him before, only you didn't find his words nearly as amusing as he appeared to.

Still, you allowed him to continue, following him up as he straightened out, soon finding yourself turning with your back to the table as he moved the chair away and stood where it had once been

"We won't ever be worth all of the unrest that we cause."

He muttered quietly, his hands moving to your hips and briefly remaining there for a few moments before he gently lifted you up and placed you atop the table, no doubt in an effort to get you to stop standing on your freshly bruised foot.

Always so observant and considerate of your needs, and yet still blind to all of the good you saw within him and his brothers.

You frowned at his words, finally opening your mouth to correct him when you noticed the way his gaze was trailing over your body, eyes flitting down to the hem of your oversized shirt, one of Connor's from his trainee days, as it grazed your upper thighs, before allowing said gaze to move upward to rest upon your lips, until finally he was looking you in the eyes once more.

You felt your breath halt at the emotions you found within your shared eye contact, noting the anguish, fear, anger, and hunger present all within that one look.

Nines was always holding himself back, never moving forward quite as fast as his brothers did, especially not within the past few years, but even so, you never failed to know exactly what he wanted.

"You can kiss me, you know."

You whispered, voice steady and devoid of any and all hesitance as you spoke.

"You don't have to do this to yourself."

You felt Nines shudder in response to your words before his hand moved to tilt your chin upward slightly, his eyes moving over every inch of your face as if he were committing each detail to memory.

Eventually though, after what felt like ages of waiting on your end, he began to lean in slowly, until he was so close that you could feel his breath fanning familiarly against your lips.

It had been so long since he'd last given in and let himself feel loved, several months at least, and you fought off the urge to wriggle anxiously in anticipation as you placed your hands upon his shoulders, eventually moving both of them forward until your arms were looped around his neck.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, silent save for the sounds of slightly heavy breathing, until finally Nines shook his head, as if he were in disbelief.

He pressed his forehead to yours once more.

"I'm sorry."

And with that, his mouth was on yours, gentle and coaxing and so incredibly soft as he moved one of his hands to the back of your head, cradling it as you leaned back and pressed your torso firmly against his own, one of your hands moving to palm his cheek again as you did so.

You had no idea how long that kiss lasted, but what you did know was that when it finally reached its end, it was because of the keening cry that came from the other room, instantly forcing the two of you apart.

Your breaths came slightly heavier as you looked up at your friend, cheeks dusted a light pink and lips subtly bruised.

"Shit."

You muttered under your breath, placing your hands on either side of you to push yourself off of the table only to be stopped by Nines, who simply quirked his brow, shook his head and leaned down to press one final kiss against your lips before he pulled away slightly and allowed your noses to brush up against one another briefly as he spoke,

"You deserve so much better than even all three of us combined, Trouble."

And with that, he moved away from you entirely, taking long and practiced steps down the hallway heading towards your bedroom.

The crying stopped just seconds afterward, flooding your home with a brief, but overall welcomed silence.

That is, until a voice spoke up from your left,

"He really is good with them, huh?"

You jumped slightly, giving a light squeak of surprise as you pressed a hand against your fluttering chest, as if trying to physically force your heart to slow down.

Sixty, clearly no longer unconscious, was now sitting up on your floor, hands slightly behind him as he propped himself up in order to see down the hallway that his younger brother had just walked through.

It was only then that you registered his previous question and began nodding slowly as you also looked off into the hallway.

"Yeah, he really is. Connor too."

You muttered, wrapping your arms around your torso as you tried not to think too hard about just who you were talking to in that moment.

Sixty chuckled from his spot on the floor beside you, and you just barely resisted the urge to look over to see if his smile looked the same way it had the last time you saw him.

As beautiful and brilliant as ever.

"Well of course Con is good with them, no one ever thought he wouldn't be. Nines on the other hand? I don't think anyone ever thought he'd be interested in the whole family thing."

At that, you turned to face your ex fiance, arms still wrapped protectively around yourself as you looked him directly in the eye intentionally for the first time all night.

"And what about you?"

You asked softly, unable to stop yourself despite knowing what little good that question would do you.

"Me?"

Sixty asked, the chuckle that left him this time around just as humorless as Nines' had been earlier on.

"I think I ended up exactly the way that everyone thought I would."

His expression remained joyful as he spoke, but you could see the anger and pain in his eyes in spite of that, and you felt yourself reaching out to him unconsciously.

"Si-"

"Caiden."

Nines' voice far outmatched yours in volume, and you immediately turned to face him, your hand pressed firmly against your chest once more at what felt like the one millionth sudden intrusion of the night.

However, because of this change in your focus, you never noticed the way that Sixty's gaze neglected to move away from you, not even for a second for most of the time that his brother was speaking.

Nines, on the other hand, was all too aware of this, and was glaring daggers at him even as he continued to talk, the baby on his hip a stark contrast to him as he giggled and cooed contently.

"Do you have any good reason for being here right now?"

Nines questioned, watching as his brother shrugged, his gaze still unmoving even as he replied.

"Not really."

Nines rolled his eyes, scoffing slightly,

"So you just came here in the middle of the night to disturb your friend and her children?"

He asked, his tone venomous.

It was this question that finally got Sixty to look at him, anger evident in his eyes.

"Excuse you, asshole, but that 'friend' is my fiancee, and last I checked those kids are mine too."

He all but growled out, hands clenched into fists as he continued to lean back on them, his upper body just mere inches off of the floor, as if moving forward any further would've taken too much effort or caused him some great pain.

Nines broke out into harsh laughter,

"Oh but is she? Are they?"

He asked, his voice raised as loud as he could manage without disturbing Finley, who was now distracting himself with the buttons on his uncle's shirt.

Sixty glared daggers at his brother, sitting up further upon hearing his words, as if it would make the venom he was about to spit at him more impactful.

"Well she damn well isn't yours, and neither are the kids, are they Nines?!"

He shouted, and you watched as the look in his brother's eyes changed from anger to hurt to hatred in seconds, matching those of his older sibling in all but color.

Sixty seemed to see this too and immediately began laughing cruelly, the smirk on his face so large it was impossible to ignore

"Fuck, that really bothers you doesn't it? You hate that I actually got to say she was mine, and you can't fucking stand the fact that both of those boys are mine too."

Sixty paused to chuckle darkly, and you honestly thought for a moment or two that he was wise enough to stop there after seeing the rage in Nines' expression, but then he just kept going.

"Aww is someone mad because he wanted to be the one to put a ring on her finger and fuck his kids into her? Can you not fucking stand it when you look into Atlas' and Finley's eyes and see me instead of you?"

He paused to cough into his fist, groaning slightly afterward, though that borderline malicious grin never once left his face as he did so.

"Well guess what dip shit, there's nothing you can ever do to change it!"

He continued after a few moments, his eyes burning with a type of rage you hadn't seen him experience since childhood.

But if his eyes were scary, than Nines' were petrifying, slowly filling with this cloudy haze that you were sure couldn't be good.

"You weren't fucking perfect enough, she didn't fucking choose you, and no matter where you go or what you do you'll never be able to change that fact. Those kids are better off with her and her alone and you fucking know it!"

At that, Nines let out a low growl, gently handing you your son before taking two long strides toward his older brother and reaching down to grab him by the front of his shirt, yanking upward until Sixty was sitting fully upright, causing the man to visibly wince as Nines spoke cruelly and clearly, his voice never once faltering.

"No Caiden, that's just what you tell yourself at night so you don't have to admit out loud that it isn't the rest of us that they're better off without, it's just you."

Sixty immediately swung his right fist up towards his brother in response to his venomous statement, but Nines easily grabbed hold of it, forcing it back down to his side as he glared heavily into his eyes.

You held your son close to your chest, watching on in horror until finally, the heavy hate-filled silence was too much, and you opened your mouth to beg them to stop.

Just as you did though, there was the sound of a key entering a lock, and then the door swung open, revealing Connor, whose eyes immediately widened as he took in the sight before him.

You thought he was just going to tell them that they needed to stop the way he used to when this sort of thing would happen, but instead when he opened his mouth to speak, he said something different entirely.

"What the hell did you do?!"

He asked urgently, rushing over to wrestle his youngest brother off of the other before he cursed and pressed his hand against Sixty's side, which you could now see was bleeding profusely, staining his gray t shirt a sickening shade of dark red.

Connor then turned his attention towards you, his expression apologetic and pained as he spoke,

"Sweetheart, I need you to call 9-1-1 for me right now."

masterlist

AO3

[final-girl96]

Firefly Chapter Sixty

Yn

When I woke up again Ellie was gone. I quickly sat up and looked around the basement for her but she wasn't anywhere in sight. I sighed and swiped my hand down my face. My gaze found Joel's face. He was pale and clammy looking. I moved the blankets off him, unzipped his jacket, and pulled his shirt up. The wound was an angry red and a little warm to the touch, which told me it was infected. “Fuck.” I pulled his shirt back down, zipped his jacket back up, and threw the blankets over him again.

“I'll be right back. I need to go find Ellie and try to find you some antibiotics.” I kissed his forehead, his skin warmer than normal against my lips. When I went to pull away his hand cake up and grabbed onto my jacket. “Get back to Tommy. Take–take Ellie and go back to Tommy's.” I pushed his hand away and looked into his eyes that were barely open. “You're fucking delusional if you think I would just leave you here to die alone. Now shut up and rest, I'll be back soon.” I covered him up and hurried up the basement stairs.

I went through the house looking for Ellie. When I went into the garage, the horses had fresh buckets of snow, so I knew she couldn't have gotten far, and luckily for me, it would be easy to track her. I walked around the horses to open the garage door to see a note stuck to it. The paper was yellowed with ripped edges.

“Went to go hunt.”

I sighed and balled the paper up, throwing it on the ground. I wish she would have just woken me up to tell me that she was going to hunt. I pulled the garage door up enough to slip underneath, closing it behind me. I looked around and decided to just search the houses instead of going after Ellie. She was a smart kid and I figured I better start letting her take more responsibility. Better than fighting with her all the time. I remember being her age and wanting freedom. Of course, I wouldn't be giving her too much freedom. I was going to search a few houses and if she isn't back within the hour then I would go looking for her.

A lot of the houses were boarded up and the houses that I was able to get into didn't have much inside. I found a couple bandages and some rubbing alcohol, there wasn't much of it but it would be enough to at least clean the wound. I also found some sugar cubes, which would be great for the horses. I could give them a couple when I get back to the house. I looked through a few more houses but came up empty so I headed back to the house we were staying in. When I got back I gave the horse a couple sugar cubes and went down to the basement.

Ellie was there, kneeling beside Joel with a syringe in one hand and a vial of something else in the other. “What's that?” I asked. She jumped and turned to look at me. “Antibiotics,” she said, standing up and handing the vial to me. I turned it over and read the label. ‘penicillin’ “Where did you get this?” I asked her. She looked nervous and a little rattled. “Some guy. I was out hunting and shot a deer, but It ran off. I followed the blood trail to an old mill or factory, and there were two men there who found the deer before me. The one made a deal with me. They would give me antibiotics for half the deer.”

I looked around not seeing any deer or meat from one. “Where's the deer now?” I asked. She sighed and started to pace. “When the other guy went to get the medication we stayed back to wait for him. The man, I think he's the leader of his group, started a fire and we were talking. We had to fight a few runners off while we waited for his friend. When his friend came back and gave me the antibiotics I ran straight back here. But, yn…the guy Joel killed, he was part of their group.”

It didn't take long for those men to track Ellie. I had quickly given Joel a dose of the penicillin before forcing a knife in his hand. “Joel, I'm going to need you to listen to me.” I tapped his cheek until he opened his eyes slightly. “Those men from the university are here with more people. If someone comes down here you need to protect yourself. I won't let anything happen to Ellie. I love you.” I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips, then I was up the stairs. I pushed a cabinet in front of the door so it would take longer for someone to get to him if they found it.

Ellie was already getting the horses saddled. I didn't like the part of our plan to split up but it made the most sense. We could already hear voices growing closer. They had tracked Ellie back here and would find us in a matter of a minute. We had to drive them away from Joel and take them out. I opened the garage door and Ellie led the horses out so I could quietly close the door again. We both got on a horse, went over the plan and put it into action. She went one way and I went the other.

There were more men than I thought there would be. It didn't take too long for them to take both Ellie and I down. They shot the horses which was incredibly sad. Now Ellie and I sat in a cell in some building. The sign we passed said we were in some kind of resort or something. I was guessing it was a town that used to get a lot of tourists during this time of the year. They had brought us here and threw us in a cell. There was a wooden table by the door that looked like it was used to cut meat on.

“We need to get out of here,” Ellie whispered. “I know.” I looked at her and sighed, “Okay, I need you to listen. If they ask about Joel, you say nothing. Pretend he didn't make it.” Just as I finished my sentence the door opened and the guy Ellie dealt with while she was out hunting walked in with two trays of food. He slid them under the bars and smiled at us. “Thought you'd two be hungry.” There was no way in hell I was going to let Ellie touch that food. God only knows what they did to it.