#it's the same 'earned happy endings' principle in my mind

[commsroom]

when it comes down to it, however much i think about eiffel's memory, whatever my reasoning might be, i think there's a much simpler core explanation for why i feel the way i do. i've said before that, if eiffel did regain his memory, i would want it to happen through 'an eiffel version of change of mind' i.e. a personal inner journey where the narrative he tells himself amounts to some greater reminder, self-confrontation, and self-realization. and that's just it:

eiffel regaining his memory wouldn't be a cop out to me for the same reason that lovelace not actually dying isn't a cop out: it's not just a story beat, it's a catalyst for character development & a better understanding of lovelace as a person. eiffel has spent his whole life trying not to be the person he is, and i just don't feel wolf 359 is the type of story to let him off the hook for that, when the ending is as much about accountability (to ourselves and to others and all the ways those responsibilities overlap) as it is about hope. i think there are ways you could argue that eiffel can still be eiffel without regaining his memory, but i think i've convinced myself that the symbolic resurrection / self-confrontation and acceptance of all the people he's been in the past, in order to move forward, is the more compelling option, especially for what it parallels, and the "eiffel is still eiffel" part is non-negotiable. it doesn't even feel like a question to me.

(and it makes the most sense to me in the context of eiffel's survivor's guilt - "of course i was fine. the driver's always fine." - and tendency towards a type of self-sacrifice and self-punishment that the show ultimately denies him / that doesn't address his real problem. he thinks sacrificing himself for the people he cares about will make up for something, but it won't. having him make that sacrifice and then keep living and keep being doug eiffel, with everything that means, feels like the natural extension of constructive criticism.)

in another story, or in a more theoretical context, there are all kinds of questions you could ask about whether eiffel's memory loss means he's a different person now, but in this case... i think it's better understood in narrative terms and what it represents for him as a character than any broader philosophical conclusion about the nature of the self and human consciousness. (and it is in no way as absolute as people sometimes behave like it is, considering he still has a concept of, like... everything. but that's a whole other topic of discussion.) most importantly, i just don't believe wolf 359 is a story about ideas as much as it is a story about people, these people, and in order to (hypothetically) continue to tell a story about doug eiffel, well. he has to still be doug eiffel. one way or another.

[sweetandgentlecreature]

Friendly Fire

Author’s Note: Hello, again! I’d like to thank everyone who liked, commented, and shared my first little project. The love it received was overwhelming for a newbie to the fanfic scene, and I’m so grateful for the input and encouragement. This story takes place in the same timeline as my first installation, so if you haven’t had a chance to read Homeward Bound yet, you can find it here. Don’t worry, though! There won’t be a specific timeline to follow. The idea is to give little glimpses into an established relationship, so you’re not missing anything (yet!). We started with a reunion, so it only seems fair to take it back to where it all began. I can’t wait for everyone to meet the new woman in Sy’s life. Happy reading!  Summary: Last night, Syverson met the love of his life. If only he could remember it. Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female OC  Warnings: Brief mentions of alcohol consumption and weapons, adult language, and (almost) implied smut. Sy is his own warning. I am an adult, and due to the nature of this content, all works created by me will be rated for those 18 years and older. Minors, DNI.

“Oh, fuck me,” Sy groaned to himself. He threw a heavy arm over his face and sighed, doing his best to block out the sun as it creeped in through the blinds, but resistance was futile. Stupidly optimistic birds chirped their early morning songs, each shrill call rattling around in his skull like an angry swarm of wasps, wild and pissed off. His body felt heavy, his joints ached, and his stomach churned. “I’m gettin’ too old fer this shit.” 

Sy could handle a little hangover. He’d done it before, and Lord know’s he’d do it again. In truth, he’d been burning the candle at both ends since he’d made it home. Sy hadn’t taken a leave since his first year in the military. His reasoning? 30 days go by too quick, no use in getting comfortable somewhere just to pack up and ship out again. This time though, he’d decided that he’d earned a bit of a break. That, and his mama was threatening to cut him out of the will if he didn’t show his face at least once this year. Not that he’d get much, of course; that wasn’t the principle of her empty threats. He knew it just as well as she did. She was starting to get up there in age, and time waits for no one. Especially not for Clayton Syverson. 

Groaning softly, he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, heavy limbs moving a little slower than usual this morning. He stretched and yawned, balling up a fist to rub the sleep from his bleary eyes. A thought crossed his mind as he worked to get those old bones moving again and he stopped dead in his tracks, hand still over his left eye and mouth still agape. “Wait…how the fuck did I make it home?”

Sy took stock of the room around him. At first glance, nothing seemed to be out of place. Everything was just as he’d left it. The tops of the dresser and chest of drawers were bare, as was the nightstand. The laundry basket that sat atop the trunk at the foot of the bed was still there, filled with neatly rolled t-shirts, socks, and skivvies. The only things that seemed to be out of sorts were his bed (since he hadn’t had the chance to make it yet), and his jeans that laid crumpled on the floor at his feet. “Weird,” he mused, and pushed himself to stand. Padding off to the bathroom for that blissful first piss of the day, he lifted the seat on the commode to relieve himself. Hold on. Lift the toilet seat? He hadn’t had to do that since he left home, nearly a decade ago. 

“What the fuck is goin’ on, now?” Must’ve been a visit from the toilet seat fairy, since he couldn’t remember the last time a woman had stepped foot into this old house. Sy could feel the hair on the back of his neck start to prickle up as he washed his hands. When his eyes found his reflection in the mirror above the sink, he had to talk himself down again. 

“Get a grip, dickhead. No one broke in just ta’ use the can.” Wandering back out to the bedroom, he’d almost made it out into the hallway, when he’d heard it. One more step, and he might’ve missed it. The soft creak of old floorboards below gave him another moment of pause. Sy held his breath as he listened intently for a moment, almost willing the house to groan again under the shift of weight. Nothing. A rush of wind left his chest as he sighed and shook his head. He swore himself off of corn liquor, never again, and took the stairs two at a time on his way down to raid the fridge for something to eat. “Hmm…somethin’ smells good. Is that–”  Bacon. That ain’t no toilet fairy down there. Someone’s here.

Soft, tranquil humming echoed down the hall. Whoever it was seemed to like Fleetwood Mac, as they aimlessly flipped slice after slice of pork products into his skillet. A loud pop of grease made him, and the intruder, flinch. “Oww! Shit!” Then the tap squeaked, followed by the sound of rushing water, and Sy thanked God that he hadn’t had time to fix it yet. Good. He knew this old farmhouse like the back of his hand, so he knew exactly where the stranger would be standing when he'd walk in. They’d have their back to him, and he’d have the upper hand. Reaching blindly into the armoire to his right, he drew the revolver from the false bottom of the drawer and peaked around the corner of the doorframe. His thumb hovered over the hammer, ready to cock it, when what he saw gave him pause. Who he saw, was more like it. 

“I know you.” The words came tumbling out before he could stop them. Her head snapped up from the sink as she turned towards the sound of his voice. She was just as startled as he was. 

“Well, I sure hoped you would.” 

Turning off the tap and reaching for a towel to dab at her scalded hand, she leaned against the counter like she owned the place. Her hair spilled down her shoulders and back in effortless, mahogany waves. The shirt she wore was stolen, and wrinkled from sleep. The logo was faded yet unmistakable, and the hem fell to about the middle of her sunkissed thigh. Why was she wearing his Skynard shirt? She watched as his eyes grew wide with realization, and it made her laugh. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, cowboy,” the intruder smirked, and lifted up the shirt to reveal a pair of cut off levis beneath it. “You sure tried like hell, but…nothing happened. How’s the head?” 

Visions of last night’s bonfire flashed through his mind. It felt like flipping through a stack of polaroids. Everything was blurry, all soft and fuzzy at the corners. One minute, he was leaning against the tailgate of his truck, nursing a beer and watching as his friends acted a’fool. The next, Johnny was passing around a quart of his homemade moonshine and calling him a pussy for trying to turn it down.  Damnit, Johnny. Sy recalled that the eyes that stared him down from across the room now were the same ones that gleamed at him in the warmth of the flames that flickered between them the night before. If only he could remember how they got there. 

As if to read his mind, she nodded as she spoke, returning to the stove just in time to salvage the last of the bacon. “You, uh…you went a little hard with that paint thinner Johnny had. I just wanted to make sure you made it home alright. Hope that’s okay.”  Sy licked his lips slowly as he processed what she was trying to say, then gave a short nod. He removed his finger from the trigger and tucked the gun away again as smoothly as possible. He didn’t want to spook her. She made him breakfast, after all. 

“Right. Thank ya, Miss.” Deeming it safe again, he crossed the threshold into the kitchen and watched as she turned off the flame beneath the cast iron on the stovetop. He felt out of place, like he should be doing something to help, so he crossed the room to grab the orange juice from the fridge. 

“Merrin,” she finished for him, then reiterated. “I’m Merrin. And you’re…Sy? That's what they call you, right?” For the first time all day, Sy cracked a crooked smile her way and pulled down two clean glasses from the cabinet beside the sink. 

“Yes ma’am, but my mama named me Clay.” 

“Clay. Got it.”

Breakfast was served, and the two strangers sat down to eat it. Merrin filled him in on what he missed from the night before. Johnny bet Sarah that she couldn’t shotgun a beer faster than he could. He lost. Petey and Melissa snuck off to the woods to skinny dip in the creek and came back with poison oak in some pretty intimate places. Roscoe passed out in the grass, and Luke and James had to carry him back to the house. Nothing out of the ordinary for a Saturday night in rural Texas. He asked about her, where she came from and what she was doing in his neck of the woods. She told him how she’d moved to town about six months ago, how she’d bought that cute little split level on the corner of Oak and Adams street. All Sy heard, though, was that he could’ve been sitting here with her six months ago. Maybe he outta come home more often.

–

“So,” he started, rinsing the suds from the face of his plate as he stood at the sink. They’d demolished that stack of bacon and eggs and were working to clean up after themselves. “How’d you end up in my shirt?”

Merrin smirked as she dried a glass and tucked it away again. “You don’t remember?” She was all too pleased to share this story. Sy laughed a deep, hearty chuckle that rattled loudly in his broad chest and shook his head. 

“Well…” she teased. “We’d been staring at each other most of the night. I’d been waiting for you to introduce yourself, but after a while, I just thought I must’a looked funny or somethin’.” 

“Mhm…” he hummed, his eyes never once leaving hers. He’d had a cup of coffee and a handful of Advil with his toast, so things were a little clearer now. He remembered watching her from afar as she chatted and giggled with her friends. He remembered thinking he’d want to remember the way she looked when she smiled his way. How he wanted to remember the way the light danced in her eyes when she laughed. She continued before he could ask her to carry on.

“When you finally got the courage to make a move, you decided that I looked a little thirsty. You grabbed me a beer, crossed the yard, tripped over a tree limb, and…poured it down my back.”

Sy winced. Surely she must be joking. One look at the smile on her face told him that she wasn’t, and he groaned. “Well shit, sugar. I’m real sorry. At least let me–”

“It’s already in the dryer. Don’t worry, big guy. You can pay me back when you take me out to dinner Friday night.” She gave a playful pat to his chest and grinned, brushing by him on her way to clear the rest of the table. Sy turned to follow her, his eyes grazing over the curve of her backside as she bent down to grab a napkin from the floor. He smiled, stacked the plate into the strainer and tossed a dish towel over his shoulder. 

“Sounds like a plan, darlin’.”

[yoonpobs]

bad boy good thing iv.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 2, 105

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a glimpse into the past

Jungkook’s been to a total of two graduations his entire life—one was his middle school’s graduation that seemed more like a farewell party and his older brother’s college one. Now, he can say that he’s attended three. But he’s never felt like this—never felt dread to say a temporary goodbye to a face he’s been so accustomed to seeing.

Maybe that’s why he’s in such a sour mood as his peers hugged their seniors' goodbyes, smiles on their face while they engaged in chatter about the future. Jungkook’s always been hard on parting and today is no different. Especially with the constant reminders at every corner of the hallways, streams of red and blue painting the ceilings with a big fat ‘happy graduation to the seniors!’ Mocking him on his journey to his classes.

He almost wants to slap some sense into himself. Because why was he terrified for the beginning of a new chapter that wasn’t his story to tell? Why was he dreading the moment that the seniors collected their diplomas and walked off the stage; and out of his life?

But he doesn’t do that; because the fear is as addictive as the excitement he feels when he thinks of you. A conflicting and tortuous juxtaposition of the beautiful day for a valedictorian and her younger friend.

“Jungkook!” A voice calls, and when he turns he sees Taehyung barrelling towards him with two people trailing closely behind.

When Taehyung plummets into Jungkook’s chest with an oof, but all Jungkook can focus on; despite the ache in his chest, is you.

You’re so pretty. But that’s nothing new for Jungkook. However, you were smiling, soft and sweet like the person who stayed up during her finals to tutor Jungkook on math concepts and the same girl who supported him through his football trials in junior year.

But you were grown, and the robe was the testimony of your age and maturity—the level of intelligence that you possess only grew with time and now you were walking towards him with a sense of quiet assuredness that he’s always admired you for.

Jungkook’s sure he’s gaping but he’s never been able to control himself around you.

“Can you stop gawking at her already?” Taehyung complains, twisting the skin between Jungkook’s armpit in retaliation.

Jungkook burns but scowls at the older boy who simply snickers in response.

“I’m so glad you’re graduating.” Jungkook snaps.

Taehyung snorts, “If I go she goes.”

Jungkook purses his lips as he readies himself for another retort, but you arrive and the first thing he notices is how gentle you smell. His favourite scent in principle, a whiff of laundry detergent accompanied with the light floral perfume he remembers his mother gifting you for your birthday.

“You’re gonna miss us, aren’t you?” Is the first thing Jimin says when he greets the younger boy with a ruffle to his head.

Jungkook glowers in embarrassment as he tries to fight him off, and despite his shorter stature in height—Jimin was in fact, quite strong.

Regardless of his flustered state, you smile at him warmly and perhaps Jungkook is biased when it comes to you because he’s sure you’ve always smiled the same, but every tilt of your lips evoke an array of different feelings in Jungkook’s chest.

“The two of you are like dumb and dumber so no—not really. God knows he’s finally granted my wish for emancipation.” Jungkook grumbles.

Taehyung feigns offence with a hand to his chest, leaning his head against Jungkook’s shoulders while he rolls his eyes.

Then he remembers you, the girl who just smiles as the world will always do her good.

“But I’ll miss Noona, though.” He says, and he hopes the shakiness of his voice isn’t obvious. “She’s the only one that doesn’t tease me.”

You grin up at Jungkook, giggling when Jimin and Taehyung gape at the younger boy’s audacity.

“Yah. You call her Noona and not us Hyung?!” Taehyung screeches were loud enough for the group of you to wince at his loudness.

“Don’t forget that you would have never have met her if it weren’t for us, you brat.” Jimin reminds, though not maliciously.

Jungkook does thank the stars for them introducing him to you. Because he doubts otherwise you’d ever interact with him. You were always in your own bubble, tucked away in a safe space filled with your own sense of solace and comfort. And Jungkook admired that.

He liked being alone, but he never wanted to be lonely. You were a breath of fresh air when you taught him the lines between loneliness and being physically alone; and how you learnt to never conflate the two. You were independent and bright, but warm and welcoming—and Jungkook remembers that these feelings weren’t just a floor away anymore.

“Ignore them, Kook.” You sigh. “Gonna miss you too.”

Jungkook feels himself melt because you say it so sweetly and sincerely.

Taehyung and Jimin ruin his love-blurred lenses by gagging at your blatant display of affection towards the younger boy.

“The two of you are so gross.” Jimin groans, earning a nod from his other half.

You roll your eyes when all Jungkook does is flush at the insinuation.

“Unlike the two of you, we make the better and more rational pair.” You chastise. “Don’t we, Kook?”

And the nickname he’s grown to love though he has a love-hate relationship with it slips off your tongue and he finds himself agreeing with you.

“These two idiots are a quarter of a brain-cell combined on a good day,” Jungkook mutters.

You burst out into laughter, rubbing a calming hand onto his shoulder and he feels the dread come in. Because this was no longer something he could reach out to when you went to college.

“Whatever.” Jimin scoffs.

Then the PA system sounds, and the principal calls for the graduates to gather at the hall. And it represents all of Jungkook’s worries in an announcement and he’s not ready to let you go yet.

“That’s our call.” You declare, eyes darting to the other seniors who pull apart from their juniors to rush to the hall.

Jungkook’s eyes widen one last time before Jimin and Taehyung both wrap their arms around Jungkook tightly, murmuring a much more sincere and grateful remark than their previous chides. And he feels slightly bad that he can’t respond because his brain is far more focused on your lone figure, who eyes him with sad yet gentle eyes.

“You’ll come to our role call, right?” Jimin asks.

Jungkook gulps because all he can focus on is your face.

“Y-yeah. Course’.” He mumbles. He feels the need to say something—do something before people crowd you after it’s over. Jungkook would never stand a chance.

He seems rooted in his feet, Jimin and Taehyung already trailing off with their arms around each other and words of their future in the air. You smile at Jungkook—and it’s the same—but his hands reach out before he can think twice.

Jungkook grabs your wrist before you can leave, gulping to himself when you stare at him with wide eyes.

“You okay?” You ask softly.

No, he’s not, because his heart is beating so fast and he doesn’t want this day to come to an end.

“I-I’m okay.” He chokes, “I just—don’t you have a parting gift for me?” Jungkook blurts before he can rationalise what the fuck did he even mean.

But Jungkook just stares at you like a deer caught in the headlights while you tilt your head at him endearingly. He hopes that his pulse doesn’t emanate from his grasp, but your wrist is small, and it feels just right in his palm.

Your lips are twitching as a grin threatens itself on your expression, and he sees the mischief in your eyes that come out every once in a while.

“Aren’t you supposed to be giving me a gift, Jeon?” You tease, and Jungkook is so soft.

He snorts, a little glad that you didn’t point out his sudden grip on your wrist.

“But you’re leaving me.” He pouts.

You roll your eyes and take a step closer to him until you’re directly in front of him. And he sees your features up close and God—did he say you were pretty?—well because you’re even prettier up close and he loses all sense of thought when you’re smiling up at him with bright eyes.

“I’m always a call away.” You say softly, gently tugging at his hand; and it’s crazy to think that you were the same older girl that was usually timid reaching out to him in a way that was shy but so you.

Even with the chattering of other students, Jungkook only hears your subdued voice.

“It’s not the same.” Jungkook sighs, and he’s slightly aware that he was whining. But you don’t seem to be bothered.

“You’re probably going to forget about me.” You scoff and it’s light, but he can see the slight furrow of your brows. “You’re Jeon Jungkook. You’ll do great.” You add softly.

Jungkook purses his lips and wants to tell you that it wasn’t possible. You took up space in his life, both in school (well, not anymore) and in his mind. You and your wonderful mind.

“Says the valedictorian.” Jungkook huffs.

You pout, “You know that isn’t long-term. What if I just peak in high school and … you know …” You sigh, shaking your head, “I’m not outgoing like Jimin or a social butterfly like Taehyung. Neither am I as friendly and likeable like you are, Jungkook. I’m just … boring.”

Jungkook freezes because while he knew you were on the shier side; the louder than life tendencies you had were small but abundant. You didn’t need to speak louder than anyone in a room to get your points across, you were soft and empathetic and led people in organisations to see the good in the work they did.

Your genuine nature drew people in, even though you’d flush under attention and praise—and if Jungkook could—he’d scream it out to the world. But you were in front of him, and he figured that was enough.

“Don’t say that.” Jungkook snaps and his tone causes you to flinch as you stare at him with wide eyes, “Don’t … put yourself down like that. You’re great, _____. You’re intelligent and kind. Just because you’re different doesn’t mean you’re boring. There are situations in this world that need people like you. There are people that find comfort in a quiet soul because you’re introspective and thoughtful. People like …”

Jungkook exhales when you stare at him so earnestly, and his ears turn red. “People like me. We need people like you in our lives.”

Your mouth falls open as you blatantly stare at Jungkook with wide eyes; he’s on the border of being absolutely mortified and running away so he wouldn’t be the subject of your obvious ogling.

But then a soft smile makes its way onto your face, and you’re tugging Jungkook by the hand and into a warm hug.

Despite him being younger than you, he’s always been taller and bigger than you were. And it was a sense of security he felt in your presence rather than your physical entity that would never be replaced with anything else.

“You really grew up, huh?” You say, a giggle in your chest.

Jungkook rolls his eyes but accepts the way you rest your head on his chest. He’s never had you this close before, and he hates that it’s on the day he needs to say goodbye.

“I’ve always been this way.” Jungkook answers. He also thinks: I’ve always been here. For you.

“Thank you, Jungkook.” You say softly, pulling away even though Jungkook wants to keep you close.

“Anytime.” He smiles widely at you, and a classmate of yours calls your name as you turn to give them a nod of acknowledgement before you’re turning back to Jungkook with a cheeky smile on your face.

“Here’s your gift.” You inform him.

“I was kidding—”

And before you can respond, you’re placing both hands on his shoulder and on your tippy-toes to deliver a kiss to his cheek.

Jungkook is stunned and he isn’t able to process it fast enough. But you’re already offering him an equally flustered smile with the tip of your ears turning red before you’re waving shyly and tittering off to the hall.

Jungkook blinks, and a hand reaches to touch his cheek.

He looks up, and groans—because how the hell was he going to survive high school now?

[pascalpanic]

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Four / Irish Coffee

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!Reader

W/C: 3k

Warnings: alcohol, language, sexual harassment, physical fighting, Javi is a legend for this chapter/next lmao, reader wears makeup and heels but clothing is otherwise not described

A/N: HI I’m gonna forgo summaries for this series from now on, if anyone has an issue with that pls lmk and we can go back to it, I’m just sick of using like the same summary lmao! Hope you guys like it, idk when chapter 5 will come but somewhat soon!

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist

Irish coffee: a cocktail consisting of hot coffee, Irish whiskey, and sugar, stirred, and topped with cream. The coffee is drunk through the cream.

Four nights after you first kissed Javier, and now many kisses later, Javier insists he take you to the one place he knows in D.C.: a nice bar in the downtown area. You’d spent the days visiting museums and monuments, giving him a tour of the Georgetown campus too. He’d hum along to the radio in your shitty car while you drove place to place. He surprised you with how much modern music he knew.

If the past four days have been getting to know Javier, privately becoming acquainted with each other’s minds and lips, tonight is some kind of grand exposition. Your brief whirlwind of a romance has been contained to your coffee shop and small restaurants off the beaten path. Javier is a well-connected man; he’s sure to know people downtown. From what he’s explained to you, he’s somewhat of a powerhouse in the DEA. Everyone downtown knows a version of the man, who goes by Agent Peña, but all you know is your Javi, your Javi who kisses you goodnight after buying you cupcakes, who drinks your peppermint mochas like it’s the nectar of the gods.

So, it’s safe to say you’re nervous. If he’s bringing you somewhere where he will know people, which he offhandedly told you, you’re going to be the living legend’s date for the night. As you stare into the mirror, your brow furrows in concentration, drawing a line across your eyelid with a pencil of kohl, your phone rings on the vanity in front of you. It makes you jump and the eye pencil drag upwards across your eyelid- most definitely not where you intended it to go. “Fuck!” you shout in annoyance and toss the pencil down. When you pick up, your voice shows your frustration. “Hello?” You ask sharply.

“Hey, abejita,” a smooth voice answers: who else but Javier. 

“Hi, Javi,” you sigh as you press the button, moving the call to the speakerphone. “You made me fuck up my eyeliner.”

“Sorry. Just calling to talk.”

His words make you smile and your ears feel warm as they rush with blood. You aren’t picking him up for another hour. “What, you couldn’t wait that long to talk?” You ask him, biting down on your painted lips with a smile. 

“No. I’m bored and I miss you.” It’s true, he thinks to himself. He hasn’t seen you all day. After spending the last three days in nearly 24-hour contact, he misses the sound of your laughter and the way your soft lips feel pressed against his stubbled cheek. 

“Well, I suppose it’s been…” you trail off as you calculate, “about 20 hours since I’ve seen you. I”m practically going through withdrawals,” you laugh, and it makes Javier’s chest warm to hear that beautiful sound, even through the tinny receiver of the hotel’s phone. “You know, if you have a cute nickname for me, I need to have something equally cute for you.”

“There’s a difference, abejita,” Javier teases, opening the hotel window to smoke out of. “You’re cute. I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“I am many things, little bee, but I am not cute,” Javier chuckles as he sticks the cigarette between his lips and lights it up.

“Well, I think you are,” you refute in a stubborn tone. “You bought me cupcakes on our first date. That’s cute. You come to my work and bring me treats and kiss me in front of my coworkers. That’s cute too.”

Javier shakes his head. Sure, the things could be classified as cute, he supposes, but they’re not the normal Javier. Sexy, rude, intelligent, any of those words could describe him. He’s a playboy, a heartbreaker, and all in all is, by principle, a lone wolf. Well, he was. He’s been chasing Escobar for years and years… and now he’s dead. Maybe he can allow himself to start anew, and this new beginning has to have you in it.

He takes a slow drag from the cigarette, getting lost in his own thoughts and forgetting to answer. The silence makes you suspicious. “Javi? Did I lose you?”

The words snap him back to reality. “No, I’m here. I’m sorry, I… zoned out there.”

“Good,” you smile as you wipe off the messy eyeliner and apply a new, perfectly winged layer of the dark makeup. “I suppose I’ll just have to see what comes. Nicknames have to be earned, not given. Did you ever have any nicknames when you were little?” You ask as you brush a sparkling powder over your eyes.

Javier thinks for a second, almost to the point where you have to ask again if he’s there. That seems to be Javier’s biggest flaw so far. “No, not really. Sometimes the other kids would call me Peñita. Didn’t like that one,” he chuckles, and you can hear air rush past the microphone as he exhales the smoke into the ever-darkening D.C. sky. “My mom had all kinds of names for me, but they were the things you’d call a little kid.”

You nod, then realize he can’t see you and you need to speak. “That’s cute. Tell me about your parents,” you ask him as you continue to brush various makeup products across your face.

Javier shakes his head. “That’s more of an over-drinks topic, I think.”

“When have you ever held back information from me?” You scoff lightly, as if you’ve known him a thousand years. It hits you as you say it, the whirlwind this entire thing has been. You’ve known Javier for five days, and he’s already everything to you. And he’s going back to Colombia in 3 weeks. It makes your heart sink in your chest, and anxiety creeps in, the realization that he might not be falling as quickly as you are. Maybe it’s time to pull back a little, you tell yourself. He won’t be here long.

“Ha,” he says dryly and takes another drag from his cigarette. “Well, I’m ready when you are, if you want to come get me a little earlier.”

His emotionless tone makes you panic. You wonder if you just went somewhere you shouldn’t have by asking about his parents, if you’ve just crossed some line you didn’t know existed. You desperately want to ask him, to reassure yourself and get rid of the worry slowly collecting in your gut, but you don’t. You can’t. You shouldn’t. “I’m still getting ready,” you tell him, and it’s truthful. “I’ll be there at 7, like we said. Is that alright?” you ask. 

Javier blows a breath of smoke into the night, the cloud of smoke mingling with the heat puff of his breath. “Sounds good to me. I’ll leave you alone to get ready,” he tells you with a small smile.

“Alright. I’ll see you then. You’re wearing something nice, right?” You clarify one last time. 

“Whatever you wear will be beautiful on you. Don’t worry about it.” Javier, ever the king of flattery, looks down and appraises his own outfit. “But yes, I’m wearing something nice.”

You smile at the reassurance, looking down at the swirling colors of your makeup palette. “Well, thank you. I’ll see you in a bit.” -

You have to say you’re surprised at the level of refinement of the hotel. You’d expected the DEA would’ve put Javier at some shitty little hotel, but it’s surprisingly nice. You remember a few days ago, the sheer terror masked behind a stoic face, but you chuckle as you consider that this famed agent had very few context clue skills. This hotel is nice, a couple of stars at least. Why would they put him here if they were firing him?

Javier stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray when he sees your car approaching, straightening his sport coat. You hold back a grin as he walks over, but the fighting ends when you see him smile as he opens the door and slides in. 

“Hi,” you beam at him, and he leans across the center console, stealing a kiss.

“Hey.” He sneaks one more kiss, one that lasts a little longer and dares to use a bit of tongue. He only breaks away when you do with a laugh. 

“My foot is on the brake right now; be careful but kiss me one more time,” you ask of him with a grin, and he happily complies, cupping your face and kissing you. When he breaks away, your eyes open slowly and you can’t hold in your happiness. “Alright, now we’re going. You’ll have to guide me,” you tell him, and he nods. 

“Sure. You’re just going to go out of here and onto that street to the right,” he says and points the way for you.

Your car follows the path, nodding along to Javier’s instructions. “Jesus, that’s a fancy place. How much does that hotel cost a night?” You marvel as you stare at the gorgeous building in your rearview mirror.  

Javier shrugs. “I’m about to find out. They’re only paying for a few nights for me, then I’m on my own. I’m guessing it isn’t cheap,” he chuckles as he looks over his shoulder. “Or I might switch hotels. Don’t know yet.”

Frowning, you take a turn he’d earlier instructed you to follow. The hotel fades from sight, the dark blue of the December night filling your rearview instead. “Well, I know of a place you could stay for way cheaper.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, adjusting in his seat to face toward you more. “What is that, pretty thing?” He asks, a hand resting on your thigh. 

“Stop,” you giggle and rest one hand atop of his. His fingers are much larger than yours, a fact that makes you shudder as his fingertips find bare skin there. “Pretty thing? That’s weak,” you tease, and Javier just rolls his eyes. “I was going to say you could stay with me, but now I’m not sure,” you say teasingly, eyes locked on the road and most certainly off of Javier. 

His brow furrows. “Well, I can pay you then.”

You shake your head. “Javi. We’re dating… aren’t we?” You ask, the hesitancy creeping into your voice. Now that you say it aloud, you’re not entirely sure that you are. “I mean, I don’t know, I just kind of thought,” you stumble over your speech, word-vomiting out whatever you can to backtrack. 

The man next to you tilts his head, but he nods. “I… I haven’t dated anyone in a long time,” he admits, his fingers starting to slowly grip your thigh rather than rest atop it. “Is this what dating is like to you?”

You nod too, knowing he’s watching you, staring down at the steering wheel. “I… yeah?”

A small smile cracks on his face, making the mustache there twitch softly. “Then I guess I’d say we’re dating. But that doesn’t matter, I don’t want to live in your place rent-free for three weeks.”

“It’s an extended vacation,” you chuckle and bring your hand back to the steering wheel to have two hands for a turn. “Don’t worry about it. I’d like having you around. We’ve already been together nonstop for a couple of days. What’s a little more?” You ask as you look over at him, seeing his eyes soften and his forehead relax from its tightened state. “And besides, any hotel is going to be painfully expensive right now. D.C. during the holidays makes the hotel rates skyrocket.”

He nods as you speak, processing the idea. “Well, do you have a guest room? I don’t want to invade your space, I can sleep on the couch if you don’t, or I can stay in a hotel.”

“Javier,” you chuckle, putting your own hand on his thigh to reassure him. “We’re not moving in together permanently. You’ll stay with me until you need to go back to Colombia, and that’s that.” Your mind has been made up. He can’t argue it, and he knows it from the firmness in your grip on his leg, in the way your body goes rigid as if the words are some formal deal that requires a handshake.

“How do you know I’m not some serial killer who does exactly this to lure you to your death?” Javier asks dryly as he looks over at you, lifting a hand to trace the side of your face slowly.

“Because you’re Javier Peña. Your name was in the newspaper next to Steve’s. You work for the DEA.”

“Some of the guys I work with could definitely be serial killers, that doesn’t discount anything,” Javier grumbles, which makes you laugh and makes him even grumpier. 

“The fact that you said that to me in the first place is my proof, Javi,” you chuckle and pat his thigh softly. “I’m an excellent judge of character. I just graduated from 7 straight years of studying psychology. Remember that?” Javier’s quiet and you know you’ve won. “Then tonight we’ll get your stuff after dinner and get you settled in my place. How does that sound?”

He’s quiet again, studying your face and the way your cheeks move with your lips, the way your brows rise and fall when he’s being ridiculous. He’s just as trained as you are, with 10+ years on you to prove his competence. You like him. You might even love him already, he thinks to himself. Your pretty lips purse at his silence and he finally cracks. “That sounds great, abejita.” Javier leans across the console to kiss your cheek, which makes you shiver softly, like any touch from the man does. “Thank you.”

“Thank me by buying me some drinks, huh?” You tease, turning back to focus on the road. 

-

The bar was nice. Really nice, you learned as you walked in. It projected the essence of Javier to you; naturally, you loved it from the moment you looked around. The room had a low ceiling and wood paneling around the walls, a floor that your short heels clacked upon as you walked to the only open stools- well, only one stool, you realized as you walked. Javier walked behind you, a hand on the small of your back, admiring your legs in the outfit you wore. 

When you finally found the available spot, where you’re now sipping a drink, you’d found that there was only one stool. 

“Do you want to go sit in the restaurant?” You asked Javier as you nodded with your head to the side of the establishment with tables and booths.

He shook his head and pulled out the stool. “You sit. I’ll stand.”

“Javi-”

“Just sit, abejita. I’ve been sitting all day. I can handle a little standing,” he chuckles and kisses your head, gesturing to the stool. When you sit, he smiles down at you and wraps his arms around you loosely from behind. You lean back against his strong chest.

Over the past few days, you and Javier have made infrequent contact, a hug in greeting or in goodbye and plenty of shared kisses. This, however, speaks directly to your touch-starved soul, the way his body practically encompasses you. He orders himself a whiskey and the drink you’d ordered on the first night you met him for you, then continues to stand there.

You crane your head around to look at him, smiling. “I love this place already,” you say, admiring the way you can hear over the hum of the other patrons and the quiet music playing. You’re much more accustomed to places your friends would drag you, where it was more for the cheap drinks than the atmosphere. 

The crow’s feet by his eyes are more pronounced as he smiles at you, but he looks even younger as his lips curve up softly. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Shit, is that Peña?” A loud voice calls from somewhere else in the building, and Javier turns, his face falling flat then smiling as he sees the voice behind it. 

“Be right back,” he murmurs and presses a kiss into the top of your head. 

It’s someone he recognizes, that’s for sure, as the man and Javier wrap their arms around each other and firmly pat the other’s back. “No shit! When did you get back to D.C., man?” The other guy asks. “Escobar just died and they’re already sending you back?”

The bartender delivers your drink, and you turn your back to Javier, thanking them and sipping at your liquor. Over your shoulder, you can hear the man and Javier talk shop, about Colombia and their days as DEA trainees, about Escobar’s recent death and Javi’s recent promotion. You glance over your shoulder at him, smiling as he easily talks with the group. You’ve not had the privilege of seeing Javier with his friends- or what seem to be his friends- yet, and he seems fairly social but humble. You appreciate that.

The talking goes on for a while, and you sip at your drink and look around the bar, appreciating the wood that makes a nice noise as your fingernails tap against it rhythmically. 

When your drink is about half-drained, the bartender sets another in front of you. It’s different from what you were drinking, a fluorescent neon color surely made by a mix of ridiculously fruity liqueurs. You look at the bartender with confusion and they nod to a man at the end of the bar. He’s not looking at you, which makes it all the easier to stare at the drink in confusion and disgust rather than drink it. His tie is absolutely egregious, boldly patterned in bright colors. There’s not an ounce of taste about this man.

The drink goes untouched, sitting in front of you as you study it. There seems to be layers, maybe, or maybe the mixed alcohols just congealed awkwardly. You sip your drink and then Javier’s whiskey, refusing to drink whatever fucking concotion sits in front of you.

Five or ten more minutes pass of Javier talking with his friends. You don’t mind- you know the feeling of catching up with people you haven’t seen in a long time. In that time, the drink remains untouched, and you ask the bartender for a refill of your go-to drink.

Not long after the second one arrives, you feel a hand on the curve of your back. You turn, hoping it’s Javier, and instead find it to be the man at the end of the bar who ordered you the drink: Tie Guy. Panic sets in immediately and you arch your back to dodge the hand, which only follows your spine. “Hey. Thought you’d like this drink. You tried it yet?” The man asks, voice clearly showing that he knows you haven’t. 

“No,” you say with a swallow, turning away from him. “Not exactly my style.”

“I thought it was such a pretty drink for such a pretty thing.”

Pretty thing. When Javier called you that earlier, even though the name wasn’t one you liked, it was at least endearing. To hear it again, dripping with sleaze and ill intentions, you shiver and push it further away. “I’m sorry, sir, it’s not my type of drink. My boyfriend will be right back, and-” you try, hating the defense you try to pull.

“He drinks whiskey,” Tie Guy says and gestures to Javier’s ¾ full glass. “No fun. Boring. Too manly, pretentious. Real men can drink something fun like these and not need to worry about someone thinking they don’t have a set of balls,” he says and his fingers trace the rim of the martini glass the concoction sits in. Now you’re definitely not drinking it, now that he’s touched it. 

“Please, I’m not interested,” you try, turning around to face the man that towers over your seated body. “I’d appreciate it if-”

“Hey,” a familiar voice- thank fuck, it’s Javier- calls from behind you. “Excuse me,” he says and pushes Tie Guy out of the way, his arm wrapping around you. It’s a relief, a grip meant entirely for comfort and not for the coercion the man across from you had tried. You melt into it instantly. “She said to back the fuck off, or could you not fucking tell?” He hisses at the man. Javier pulls away from you, stepping towards the man who instinctively steps back.

“Whiskey drinker,” the man snorts and rolls his eyes. “So manly, so over the top. Gotta let everyone know that you’re the alpha, the dominant male, huh?” He asks, getting in Javier’s face. He’s taller than your Javier, but lankier. The fact that Javier could take him crosses your mind, though you hope desperately that it doesn’t come to that.

“What I drink doesn’t fucking matter,” Javier says and shoves his chest. “What matters is that you’re fucking harassing my girlfriend. Back the fuck off,” he says and turns from the man, back to you, his hand on your upper arm. “You okay?” he asks quietly, and you respond with a nod and a forced, close-lipped smile.

“Yep, go ahead, go back to your little prude,” the man laughs drunkenly, his voice full of vitriol. “Oh, no, I bet she loves to act all shy, but then she’s a kinky little thing in bed, isn’t she?” He asks, taunting Javier. “Ties your ass up and whips you, with that sass. I wonder if she-”

The sentence isn’t finished. Javier’s fist flies through the air and connects with the man’s face, followed by a loud, ringing thud as the taller body hits the floor.

-

caffeine rush taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @yooforia @oceanablue @sara-alonso @pedrosmustache @feelingmadclever @hnt-escape @radiowallet @obsessivelysearching @sugarontherims @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @linnie0119 @1800-fight-me @autumnleaves1991-blog @toilet-keeper @evelynseventyr @metalarmsandmanbuns @shannababyy @sambucky21 @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @theorganasolo @jagi-yaaa @mrsparknuts @tacticalsparkles

[robininthelabyrinth]

Hello! I love your writing! I'm gonna send five prompts, I hope at least one of them inspires you and you have fun with them. Prompt #1: Wang Lingjiao (Wen Chao's mistress) interacting with Meng Yao in Nightless City, can be a ship but not necessarily (I... guess you could count shipping it as infidelity towards Wen Chao??? so def don't write ship if it makes you uncomfortable). Preferably WLJ pov, with her making numerous not always accurate assumptions about Meng Yao's role at Wen Ruohan's court, maybe sort of assuming he is to WRH what she is to WC and therefore approaching him with something like ~camaraderie (whether MY plays along or laughs her off I will leave to you)

ao3

Friends were a luxury that Wang Lingjiao had never been well-off enough to have, not when her tenuous position might be lost at any minute by a pair of seductive eyes or a new (not better) pair of tits, but it wasn’t like she was totally without any fellow feeling.

“Well done,” she said to the boy with Nie braids in his hair like he thought it’d make him something he wasn’t.

He blinked, surprised, and fixed her with the same pleasant, competent, I’m-here-for-your-pleasure smile that she’d seen him use on everyone else. “Lady Wang, whatever do you mean?”

Wang Lingjiao rolled her eyes. Sure, he wasn’t doing anything more stunning than getting himself some off-hours food from the kitchens, same as her, but there was no way he didn’t know what she meant. 

He knew. Oh, he knew.

“For selling something else,” she clarified, and saw the darkness creep into that bright and clear gaze he was always pretending with, hiding behind; he couldn’t deny that he knew exactly what she was saying now. Personally, she’d rather be on her back in Wen Chao’s bed than helping out in the Fire Palace, but it was the principle of the thing. “And drop the ‘lady’ shit while we’re in the Nightless City. There’s no point in pissing off Lady Ma.”

His face didn’t give away any obvious tells, like eyebrows shooting up or eyes going wide, but she could feel that he was surprised. “You – care about that?”

Ma Liyuan was Wen Chao’s wife, officially, and Wang Lingjiao’s official job was as her maid, except of course she didn’t do any maid stuff because she was too busy fucking Wen Chao. Still, she would have thought that this Meng Yao character would know better.

“Born in a brothel, were you?” she guessed, and his face closed up. “Don’t be so squeamish. She told me to do it, of course. If she can’t keep him, better that she control him through me than let someone from the outside sink their claws into him. Doesn’t mean she wants it rubbed in her face or anything, though.”

It wasn’t an uncommon story, and he nodded slowly as she went to pick out some food – she could get better fare when she ate with Wen Chao, of course, but he liked the illusion of her being dainty and pristine, as if you could get tits like hers without having a decent meal on the regular, and so she supplemented in private.

“Someone told me you were from Yingchuan,” he said from behind her. “Yingchuan Wang sect.”

“I am,” she said, tearing at the flesh of an apple with her teeth. “What, the intonation didn’t give me away?”

“It’s not that,” he said. “I thought – Yingchuan Wang is a cultivation sect.”

Gentry, he meant. 

“Sure is,” Wang Lingjiao said, and her lips twisted in derision. “What, did you think it was all fun and games after you get brought across the threshold? Did your mother fill your head with dreams of your legitimate father sweeping in and buying your freedom and hers, setting her up in a nice little courtyard and you in disciple robes, then seeing your merit and giving you the respect you deserve?”

He was quiet. Brothel girls, she thought to herself. Always the same old tune.

“My mother was a whore, too, only she did get brought in as a concubine,” she said. “Nice and official, past the threshold and everything. The official wives hated her, of course: shorted her on firewood in the winter and water in the summer, always gave her the worst pieces of cloth to make clothing and no allowance to buy anything else, gave us incense that’d give you itches and food that gave you the runs.”

“That happens everywhere,” he said.

“She got that nice little courtyard,” Wang Lingjiao said. “It even had a nice little gateway to the outside world – not for her to go out, mind you, that wouldn’t be proper for an official concubine. But it worked perfectly well for men to come in, with all the earnings flowing to the family coffers.”

She laughed at the expression on his face.

“It’s one pimp or another,” she told him. “Men always want something from you, always, don’t you know that? And when they think you’re already dirty, they don’t think too hard about what they’re asking. I was born inside the door to a proper legitimate father, never spent a day of my life in a brothel, and they still sold me out just the same as any madam – no, worse. The stuff these righteous bastards ask for is always ten times worse.”

“Worse?” he echoed.

“Isn’t it?” she asked him. “Even a whore that’s lost her charm still doesn’t have to do much more than lie on her back and spread her legs, but look at you – look at me. Running around catering to their every need, doing every nasty deed that they don’t want to do because that’s all we’re good for in their eyes.”

He grimaced.

“I’m in charge of getting new women for A-Chao’s bed, when he’s in the mood for variety,” Wang Lingjiao said. “And for getting rid of any accidents that might happen later, my own or others’. The Wen clan doesn’t believe in them, if you understand me; if he wants kids, he’ll get them through Lady Ma or nobody. And if a woman turns him down, it’s my job to punish her, or else he’ll start saying I don’t care enough, that I’m looking elsewhere…”

She laughed and took a bite of some pork.

“I’d do it anyway, of course,” she said, chewing. “All those little bitches that think they’re better than me, it’s a pleasure to knock them down to size. And surprise, surprise, once they don’t have their looks, suddenly they’re more than happy to come around begging at A-Chao’s door to see what they can get, since now the righteous ones don’t want them anymore…Peel off all that shiny exterior and it’s all the same underneath.”

Meng Yao didn’t like what she was saying, she could tell. Not that she cared.

“Find yourself a fool,” she advised him. “A-Chao’s not bad to me, all things considered. I’ve been by his side for a few years now and his tastes are pretty run-of-the-mill, not like his brother or his father; a bit of ego stroking - ooh, you’re so strong, so capable, I’ve never seen anyone as big as you, that sort of thing - and he likes coming on my tits. Sect Leader Wen, though? He’s too clever. You won’t be able to keep his interest for long, not even with those ingenious little torture machines you keep inventing for him, and then he’ll have you doing the real scut work.”

“I appreciate your consideration,” he said stiffly. Didn’t like his work being compared to someone like her, did he?

Men.

“I hear things about the brothels in Lanling,” she offered, just to needle him. “Not just perfume and flowers and a bit of witty conversation, not for men with all the money in the world; they like getting a little extra. If you’d gotten taken in the way you wanted, I’d bet that’s the job you’d get: you’d be seeing those women every day, bringing the women in smiling and taking them out crying – or worse. Some jobs you aren’t meant to come back from, after all; my best friend growing up ended up that way. You couldn’t even recognize the body as human below the neck.”

He was too well-trained to glare, but Wang Lingjiao could tell he wanted to. Someone like him, who signed up to do torture work, probably wouldn’t mind the bodies, she reflected, and shook her head.

“What’s Qinghe like, anyway?” she asked, nodding at his braids, actually curious. “Secretive sorts, and the one or two times my people acted as hosts to their inner sect disciples, they always turned down any offers for late night company.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said.

“Stop having a stick up your ass. I’m not saying you provided services yourself, and even if you did I’m hardly one to judge. I just want to know. You were close with that big man of theirs, their sect leader, weren’t you? Sect Leader Wen sure talks about it enough.”

Talked about it the way Wen Chao talked about Wang Lingjiao getting close to a woman he was pursuing, sometimes. There was really no accounting for taste – Sect Leader Wen could have any woman he wanted and often did, her and Lady Ma included, and even sometimes at the same time; yet what he really wanted, apparently, was to hear Meng Yao talk about Sect Leader Nie’s personal habits.

Probably he wanted the joy in breaking him or something. Wang Lingjiao didn’t make it her business to try to guess, though she supposed Meng Yao did.

“No way someone as sharp as you didn’t pick up some clues about what he likes,” she continued. “Come on, what is it? He like beating his whores or something?”

“He didn’t frequent whores,” Meng Yao said. “And he didn’t take lovers.”

He smiled, faintly, probably at her expression of disbelief.

“He liked slaughtering Wen-dogs,” he added. “Rather a lot. See that you don’t end up on the wrong side of his saber. He didn’t make allowances for women.”

Wang Lingjiao tossed her hair – there was no need to bring in blood and war into their perfectly nice conversation! – and huffed. “Oh, I get you. The marrying type, then?” she sneered. “The ones that’ll give you their heart and forgive you for everything, then end up wearing green hats for cuckolds when it turns out the one they like isn’t near as virtuous as them? What a fool!”

“I thought you said I should find myself a fool,” Meng Yao said mildly.

“You still have to be able to keep him,” she mocked. “If you could get someone like Sect Leader Nie on the hook, why would you be busting your ass here?”

That shut him up.

“Well, your loss is Sect Leader Wen’s gain, I guess,” she said, and put aside her plate without washing it. The kitchen staff could clean up for her. “Ugh, I can’t wait for this war to be over already. I miss the discussion conferences! Even though I had to stay back with the servants, at least you got to see some new people…that last one, with the archery, that was a fun one.”

She grinned. “All the sect leaders came here to sit at Sect Leader Wen’s feet, your father included. He asked all three of his housekeeping maids to serve him in bed, you know. All at once. Brave man, at his age…come to think of it, you might want to check the nursery. See if you have some siblings there. Who knows? Maybe they’ll grow up to be competition.”

Meng Yao said nothing.

Wang Lingjiao laughed again.

“Have fun in the Fire Palace, Meng Yao,” she said, sashaying away. “Try not to end up on the wrong side of it.”

See? It was almost like being friends.

[spade-riddles]

"Adjusting Expectations" Post

This submission received a lot of responses and 120 notes, so I thought I would compile the comments here.

Anonymous said:

Adjusting expectations anon was so good. If their timetables are right and we do just need to be patient a little longer, can Kaylor please send us a sign? I guess it would be too loud to slip "adjusting expectations" into social media posts, but maybe they could both do something with playing cards? To show they are card sharks right now but they'll find their way home eventually? That would reassure people. And it would fly under the radar.

casuallycruel131313 said:

I agree with a lot of this but I think the main issue right now is that moral and ethical lines have been crossed and there's no coming back from that. In these post-Trumpian insurrectionist times it's unfathomable that they could continue the Kushner narrative I no longer care if or when they come out, I enjoy the music and I'm happy to observe from a distance because I'm interested from a PR/marketing point of view but my opinion of T &K as people has changed irrevocably and I don't see how they can clean the tarnish off.

@theprologues said:

Agree with most of not all if this but I would like to say as a Kaylor the toe Grammy stunt didn’t phase me. I was not crushed by that by any means. I just shrugged and honestly expected it. It was the attributing Betty and exile to him during the LPSS in November that bummed me out and really made me go...really?

rockcrow20 said:

Have to say I also agree with most of this.

I no longer have any expectations on anything changing any time soon and have not been surprised by the recent events its to be expected after everything over the years really

Nothing has really changed (bearding narrative wise) since I fell down the rabbit hole in 2017 (except that great night in nashville 2018 rep)

Honestly I can't say I am as invested anymore about them ever coming out as I was.

I think the wb/Joe thing was the last moment for me and the continual kushner connection just troubles me like many others.

I mean my kaylor motto for awhile now has been hope for the best but expect disappointment.

Low expectations = limited feelings of disappointment.

original-cypher said:

@rockcrow20 the WB was a breaking point for so many. You are absolutely right. There are just so ma'y contradictions that feel like absolute whiplash. (I know I seem to have been the only one experiencing that with Gorgeous but... that was a big one for me, too) But like. You go on a whole PR campaign about speaking up and standing up for yourself. You say you're capable and tired of men trying to take ownership of your success and profit off of your name. And you credit you literal damn work to a bloke? Bitch, 'consistency'? Look it up. It grossed me out. It would have felt iffy if I believed they were real. But since I wasn't born yesterday it just sent me the message "this is how far I'm willing to sacrifice my principles to not be queer".

rockcrow20 said:

@original-cypher exactly why it bothered me and I know alot us so much. Such mixed messaging of being a strong fighting for your rights female and then oh hey let me attribute some of my best work to my pr boyfriend and the pr pics where she is walking behind all the time like 🙄 The Betty thing that was big one for me too!

rainbowdaisy13 said:

This write up and the comments are spot on. I don’t have much to add other than like @original-cypher said, Miss Americana is tainted for me now and seems like at the very least, it was released too soon in the plan. I get we think they have had to pivot but man, that doc, and including her literally saying “gay rights make me me” at the end was such a false flag. To see her wax poetic about not taking shit from men anymore and then see her do the same old hetero weak woman song and dance routine with the WB shit for albums that are of her genius mind has been so disappointing. I still believe Kaylor is real and I hope they get a chance to show the world that. Karlie posting that cardigan pic in the woods before the folklore release cemented for me they are still together. Adding a baby makes me feel all kind of weird ethical things but I hope I live long enough to see it play out and wear my I Told You So shirt 😁

@kellykaylor said:

agree with your post... I dont care about toe stunts but what really pissed me of was hetwashing betty 🤮! beautiful post tho anon!!

roameroo said:

Totally agree with these all comments especially the strong messaging of MA only to turn around & pull that WB = my "bf" crap. I was disheartened by her mentioning him at the Grammy's only bc he's getting credit for sh*t he doesn't/didn't do. That is what irks me the most about this, giving him credit for her life's work.

always-the-last-word said:

Can I throw my pennies in the pool ?? Taylor will put out the big three first Fearless, RED then 1989 that should bring us to about August. This is where the excitement should begin. If Taylor preps and waits for National Coming Out day it's a no lose for her. Lover her money making machine will go through the roof !! If things go bad or good in the public eye she'll have REPUTATION Taylor's Version ready to release. It will be epic and she'll own it and be FREE.

@karlie-what-you-want said:

always-the-last-word I like this take a lot! I try not to be too optimistic but if she wanted to come out sooner rather than later, I think this plan would satisfy both business and PR needs (at least on Taylor’s end). Remains to be seen how Tay will help Karlie dig her way out of the mess they made together regarding the K*shners.

always-the-last-word said:

Always remember that Taylor has a PLAN. Some of her plans are year's old (easter eggs). Taylor's one and only LOVE is her music, everything else comes second. If KK wants to change and be with her full time she'll make moves around the same time frame. That's if she chooses to. In any event Tay will be open and own all her music. I've seen this film before and WE might not like the ending.

chosetherose said:

I’ve been going back and forth for a day trying to figure out what I wanted to say when I reblogged this post. I’m tired. I’m frustrated. I understand I’m owed nothing by Taylor or Karlie. I understand that circumstances out of their control have caused the girls to pivot over and over again.

But, the root of my frustration in the past months stems not from me battling with the trivial (e.g. pap walks, etc.) but with my personal principles. I fiercely believe credit should be given where it is earned and I uphold this in my career regularly. To see Taylor crediting Toe with her art was deeply disappointing. Watch the 1989 and folklore acceptance speeches back to back and tell me it doesn’t upset you. I believe the K******s have blood on their hands and that their actions during the pandemic have killed people. To see Karlie still associating with one of them disgusts me.

I can’t help but think back in frustration - Would you really fall from grace to touch her face? (And in the brilliant words of @9w1ft) But would you die for her in public? I go back and forth feeling like questions like this aren’t fair at all and thinking they are sort of valid. At this point, it sort of feels like Taylor would only fall from grace for her lover if all the stars and facets of her life aligned perfectly. But perfection like this does not happen. Such is life. So why am I here?

I do question why Spade left certain messages in their final days. I am still holding hope a fervent revolution exonerates everyone. I so desperately want Taylor to regain control of her masters or re-records. Maybe this is the plan they thought was best with multiple goals in mind (re-records, having a family, coming out of the closet one day etc). I’m trying to remain patient because Spade told us to trust her endless yearning. But WOW it is asking a lot of us at this point.

Anonymous said:

Despite being a pragmatist kaylor and oftentimes getting into arguments with fellow optimistic kaylors (owner of this blog included) I think it's quite unfair -at this point- to say to the optimists who have patiently sat through the worst kind of stunts with the most terrible kind of people (yes I'm talking about the Kushner's friend group too) that they should have seen it coming. Besides, if it weren't for the optimists we the cynicals would have burned this fandom down by now.

Anonymous said:

Even if we ignore that an insurrection happened partially because of the family karlie's still working for and getting paid from, she literally said before the pregnancy debacle unfolded that j*sh was her last client while talking about cutting hair and doing a cutting gesture. How should we have interpreted that? 😤That a year later she would be more stuck with the Kushners than ever? We don't wake up on day and decide to have unrealistic expectations. She feeds into them. 😠

Anonymous said:

I have no expectation of Taylor coming out anymore. Zero. None. I have no expectation of her dropping Toe or even of Kaylor publicly reuniting. It doesn't even matter that much anymore. But I - do - expect 1 thing. Karlie to drop and completely dissociate herself from the Kushners and this has nothing to do with kaylor. It was everything to do with me being unable to support a person who willfully assists (now using her baby too) and receives money from a family that has made so many suffer.

Anonymous said:

A quick word from an ex-kaylor (who will never become an anti). A year ago, when the Trumps were still in power and untouchable and there was no baby, I was excusing and turning a blind eye to many things Karlie did for the K*shners. Even that dinner in September. I had also made peace with the truth never being revealed. But a year later the Trumps are gone, Karlie is still on full stunting mode now with a baby in the mix, a baby that is already being used by the Kushners, and I've really run out of excuses. Now the only thing that could possibly keep me on board is if I knew there was a good chance that the full truth would come out, so that Karlie's inexplicable and honestly borderline immoral actions could eventually make sense. But as your sub said, this is an unrealistic expectation, thus I became an ex-kaylor and I'm not planning to come back even when they reunite. 😕

Anonymous said:

What baffles me is that Taylor has explicitly expressed her regret about not giving her lover the credit she deserves and her doubt whether fame is worth hiding her true love: "when I walked up to the podium, I think I forgot to say your name", "what's a lifetime of achievement, if I pushed you to the edge". But yet again she didn't do anything to change this. I didn't expect her to acknowledge Karlie, but a nod or at least not falsely crediting her beard would be a good start.

Anonymous said:

1🙁 Let me chime in re: "expectations". I'm one of the kaylors who ever since the pregnancy reveal was trying to tell everyone there's NO way she was gonna dump him soon after birth let alone before that. It would bring too much unnecessary attention and Jerk would have never agreed to something that would make him look like a bad guy/husband. For the exact same reasons, I was also saying there's no way he wasn't going to post about the baby. All the above against the popular opinion back then.

2🙁 So I agree that the day of the birth post was known to T, not the timing though. Simply bc Kushner-leaning outlets made sure to note that detail. If they wanted it to go unnoticed, why draw attention to it? That being said, kaylors would have been more patient with this mess, if Karlie hadn't gone overboard with her freedom "smoke signals" last summer and Tay's "insiders" hadn't been insinuating that the end is VERY near. Both of them SHOULD have known by then how we would react to these.

3🙁 So it's natural that everyone feels played and has no patience for any more bullshit. Another sore point is how Jerk AND the Kushner-Trump klan monopolize the baby news. This isn't just to make it realistic, it's an abuse of Kaylor's baby's name to garner good pr for the worst family in America, with Karlie's blessing. In order for her marriage and split to appear realistic she's putting a LIFETIME burden on her child's back. Unless you believe she's eventually gonna say Jerk isn't the dad.

4🙁 So "we’re in a position we should realistically have been able to see coming". But we did see it coming, that why some made these extreme scenarios, bc this is the worst possible outcome. "Good people try to make it work, even in bad relationships." Ultimately this isn't just a "bad rs". It's a horrific association that should have been resolved ages ago, not one to bring your child into, doom it to suffer a similar fate, and expect people to sit idly and watch. That's what frustrates most.

[riversongg]

Pairing: Castiel / Dean Winchester 
Warnings: Swearing (Is this a warning?)
 Word Count: 1087
 A/N: This is something I wrote a while ago and planned to post as a later chapter of a fic I started, but due to work/life commitments I haven’t been able to post in that fic as much as I would have liked, so instead I am just posting it here today to celebrate the 2021 Valentine’s day Destiel wedding!!!If you enjoy I would LOVE to hear what you think! 
 Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day after the events of Season 15 except Cas came back and no one dies. Dean and Cas get married and everything is soft.

Dean snuggles into Castiel, his arm around Dean’s shoulders where they lie. Dean has no idea how he ended up as the little spoon, but he’s too happy to care. He reaches up to Castiel’s chest, intertwining their fingers. He revels in the moment, in the feeling of pure happiness. But it’s more than that. He knows happiness, he’s felt it before. It’s a rare feeling, sure, but what he’s feeling right now is beyond happiness. It’s something he doesn’t think he has ever felt before.

Peace. 

He breathes slowly, deeply, closing his eyes and simply existing in Cas’s arms. He pulls Castiel’s hand to his lips and kisses the ring that is now sitting on the ex-angel’s finger. It’s cold against his lips, the silver standing out against the warmth of his husband’s skin.

“Mr Winchester,” Dean says with a smile. 

Dean feels Castiel untangle his hand from his as he reaches to cup Dean’s jaw. 

“Dean,” Cas says, his voice full of more warmth and love than Dean ever imagined he deserved. But he does. He deserves this. He deserves Cas. He leans towards his husband and their lips meet in the middle, soft and chaste but sure. A promise lingering between the two of them. A promise of tomorrow. A promise of every day after. They breathe each other in, eyes closed, content to exist in each other’s orbit.

“I don’t think I will ever be ready for this day to end,” Dean says as he pulls away. He leans back against his husband’s chest, hooking his left hand around Cas’s thigh. The arm around his shoulders gives him a squeeze, tight and reassuring.

“I know,” Cas says simply. “Today was the best day of your life.” Dean shoves him teasingly. “You know it’s true. Everyone you have ever loved, all in one room. Everyone happy, no pain…” He pauses. “Except when Crowley decided it would be a good idea to try karaoke.”

“Heh,” Dean laughed. “Yeah, no one needed to experience that, no matter what they have done to deserve it.” They smiled at the memory of that evening, a drunken ex-King of Hell swaying on stage to a terrible rendition of Air Supply’s All Out of Love. 

After a few minutes Cas presses a soft kiss into Dean’s hair. “You will see them all again tomorrow, you know.” Dean nods. “And Jack has given them all the choice to stay.”

“Cosmic consequences be damned,” Dean quotes, “yeah, I remember.” He sighs. When they told their son that they would be getting married, Jack had told Cas and Dean that he wanted to do something for them, a gift, to make their wedding the best possible day in existence. He’d been away for a while, busy revamping Heaven. Changes were coming, they could all feel that. 

Dean first understood the shift in their reality when Jack told them that he had offered all monsters on Earth the option to be “cured”. He had said that he didn’t want to force a cure on them, that it wouldn’t be fair to those who lived a good life. “Like your friend Garth,” he had told Dean, his face so earnest and hopeful. 

Jack explained that Purgatory would cease to exist. The afterlife would not be the same. Any demons in Hell who wanted to start again as a human would be given the chance. Everyone else would simply exist no more.

And the same thing was going to happen to Heaven. Dean remembers the way it felt when Jack had told him that the souls in Heaven would simply drift away into nothing, the way his heart felt like someone had taken ahold of it and squeezed, never letting go. 

But of course, Jack, kind and good as he is, had one surprise up his sleeve.

Everyone that Sam and Dean and Cas had ever loved, had ever cared for, had been brought back. “Cosmic consequences be damned,” Jack had said with a bright smile. “This is how it is meant to be.” 

Dean had felt happier and lighter than he ever had before. Everyone. They were all coming back. Holding Charlie in his arms, sobbing into her hair as she stroked his back had been a weight lifted. 

There had been a very strange reunion between Sam and Jess, especially when he introduced Eileen into the mix. 

Even John Winchester had been brought back. Castiel punched him on the nose in principle, breaking one of his fingers. That had been a fun trip to the hospital. 

“You will never be ready to say goodbye to any of them,” Cas says. “I understand.” 

For the most part, everyone was excited to stay on Earth, give living another go. Not many people get a chance at a redo, and this would be the last time anyone would ever come back. But Jack didn’t want to force people to come back. He had explained it would be unfair, especially after he understood how painful and difficult it had been for Mary that first time.

Some people had decided not to stay. They would stay for the wedding, for one last hurrah, of course. But on February 15th they would be saying goodbye.

Forever. 

“Hey, Cas?” 

“Yes, Dean?”

“You know I love you, right?” He hates how insecure he sounds. Cas laughs, his voice low and quiet.

“I think the fact that we just got married in front of all of our loved ones, Dean, tells me how much you love me.”

“Okay,” he says. “Just checking.”

“I love you too,” Cas says, “more than anything.” 

And Dean leans in again, kisses his husband with all the love and passion his body can muster. He wants to show Castiel just how much he is loved, cherished, valued. He wants to make his husband feel good, and happy, and pure. 

Things quickly become heated between the two of them, and as Dean sinks into Cas, becoming enraptured and enveloped in their passion, he allows his mind to drift back to earlier that day, to the one moment he never wants to forget.

Dean stands in front of his husband to be, hands joined tight between them. The Roadhouse has somehow been rebuilt - Dean reminds himself to thank the kid for that later - everyone he has ever loved sat in one room. Dean never imagined that something like this would even be possible. But here he was, standing before the person he loved the most in the world, ready to tell the whole world. 

“Castiel,” Claire says, because for some reason she insisted on officiating, “I believe you have prepared your own vows.” Cas nods to her, his face stoic and serious. Dean watches as he takes in a deep breath, preparing for the speech he has prepared.

“Everything I have done since the day I pulled you out of Hell has been done for you,” Cas begins. “Because of you. The good, the bad…” He trails off, a small smile growing on his face. He looks down, away from Dean, and lets out a small huff of laughter. “Yes I may have been misguided at times, made some bad choices.” His eyes reach Dean’s again. “But I did everything for you. All I ever wanted was a better world for you, Dean Winchester. I wanted to create a world that you would be proud of.” Dean squeezes Cas’s hands even tighter. 

“Dean.” Cas says his name so simply. It’s just one word, one small syllable. But the way he says those four letters speaks so much love and affection into the world that a part of Dean wants to run from it. It has taken him a long time to accept that he does deserve the kind of love that Castiel, ex-angel of the lord, and love of his life is offering, but sometimes Dean doesn’t know how to truly comprehend that he is allowed this kind of happiness. 

“I know for the longest time you have thought that I have only stayed by your side out of obligation,” Cas continues. “You feel, you worry, that I think I owe you something, and that is the reason why I stay. You taught me how to love. You taught me how to care, how to be human. 

“I know you still sometimes think that I stick around because it’s convenient. But every day, every moment of my life, it is an honour to be able to exist in your orbit. Knowing you has been the biggest pleasure of my life. Simply standing here, getting to exist next to you… It would be more than enough to make me happy until the end of time. But getting to be with you, to hold your hand, to look into your eyes, to exist with you, that is more than I could have ever dreamed.” 

Cas is well into his speech now, and Dean definitely does not feel his through tightening, a tear forming in his eye. Definitely not.

“I knew a long time ago that I intended to spend the rest of my life loving you. I have told you before that I learned to love everyone, the whole world, Sam, Jack, our family, because of you. But my love for you… That’s something I will never be able to quantify. It’s not only a part of me, but it has made me who I am. And I am so grateful that you have given that to me.”

Dean can feel his heart beating now, harder than it has ever beat before. 

“I want to spend the rest of my life loving you, Dean Winchester. If you’ll have me, I want to do it by your side, holding your hand as we walk Miracle, kissing you good morning despite your awful morning breath,” - that earns a chuckle from their audience- “pretending I like Led Zeppelin more than I actually do,” -and that earns a protested “Hey!” from Dean, a chuckle from Sam, and an understanding nod from Jack- “practicing my baking skills until I make the perfect pie… all of it. I want all of it with you.” 

“You are not only the love of my life, Dean. You are my life. My love, my joy, I would never have understood any of it if not for you. If you will have me, I will spend every day in the rest of my existence thanking you.”

And then Castiel turns back to Claire, giving her a small nod to indicate that he is finished. Everyone is quiet. Everything is still. No one moves.

Claire clears her throat and turns to Dean. 

“Well, shit Cas,” Dean says finally, a laugh escaping as a single tear manages to escape, “how the fuck am I supposed to follow that?”

Everyone laughs. And everything is perfect.

Read on AO3. Credit to @sunforgrace​ for the banner

[sssrha]

Imposter

Later, Lan Xichen learned what, exactly, his mother had done. Later, he would learn that the normal punishment was death. Later he learned that his father had married her so she could escape that fate, only to lock her away from the world she loved so much.

But, at that moment, Lan Huan was five and anything was possible, so he told himself he didn’t need to be Sect Leader Lan—he would be A-Huan, travelling the world with Mother (and maybe A-Zhan) and making her smile. That’s all he ever wanted.

Or: When the people spoke of the Twin Jades of Lan, Lan Xichen could never push away the distinct sense of wrongness in his stomach. They didn’t know that he was an imposter, after all.

[written for XiSang Week 2020. read it below or on AO3.]

-

Lan Huan’s mother used to card her fingers through his hair once a month, pulling and twisting the strands into elaborate braids that Lan Huan would spend hours looking at, if given the chance. When Lan Zhan would, inevitably, fall asleep to her quiet humming, she would turn her twinkling eyes upon Lan Huan and Lan Huan alone, and she’d keep on braiding and unbraiding his hair, singing sweet nonsense into the silence.

Afterward, right before leaving, he would quietly unbraid his hair, each movement leaving his limbs increasingly leaden until he was but a human caricature, inanimate and yet still breathing, unable to finish what he’d started. His mother would press a kiss to his forehead and finish for him. “Look at you,” she would whisper, careful not to rouse Lan Zhan, “you’re the perfect Lan. My son—so handsome!”

She’d brush her fingers against Lan Huan’s cheek—she did it so often that Lan Huan memorized every scar and callous on them…and there were many. Lan Zhan had only truly learned how to count after their mother let him count every blemish across her palms. When asked, she would say, “I didn’t always live here, A-Huan.”

That made sense. She probably earned those scars in the same place she’d learned how to braid Lan Huan’s hair—the very same braids that sat atop her own head. It must have also been the same place she’d chipped her front tooth and lost the very tip of her left ring finger.

He would ask her about that far off time which he wasn’t alive to see, and she’d regale him with stories of warriors, of freedom, of ancient forests filled with beasts ready to fight, and many times, she’d tell him about a butcher who worked hard until he became so much more. It was his favorite story. When he unbraided his hair and felt his limbs turn to lead, his mother would tell him the story, and suddenly, things weren’t as bad.

He should have known that it wouldn’t last.

***

Lan Huan is eight, and he is floating. He thinks he’s cold, too—he must be, sitting out in the snow like this for so long, nowhere near close enough to his brother to share any warmth. He knows that he should go, but he’s floating over his own head and it’s hard to see anything other than Lan Zhan’s form, crystal clear against the rest of the world.

He cannot leave his brother sitting out in the cold, and even if this is a dream, like he’s starting to suspect, it’s still the principle that matters; Lan Huan watches himself stay completely still until his fingers turn so white that it must be frightening. He watches them curl, one-by-one, creaking in protest after their disuse, and he hears himself say, once again, “A-Zhan, let’s go.” Lan Zhan glances at him once before going back to staring at the door—the one that will never open, no matter how long he waits, no matter how much his older brother wants him to be happy—

Lan Huan floats, and he can’t come back down.

He watches himself hunch over and, slowly, feels the dizziness run rampant through his mind.

The first time Lan Zhan moves that evening is after Lan Huan’s body tilts sideways and doesn’t get back up.

“Brother!”

The world whirls away.

***

That should have been the end of it.

It is not the end.

***

The Cloud Recesses’ infirmary stands apart from the rest of it. It’s in its own nook of time, unchanged by the ebbs and flows of the world and Lan Xichen is sure that if he were to trace the lines of the blanket covering his form, it would remain with the same folds and contours as always. He can almost see the world whirl by, the sun rising and setting with the sands of time.

He sees two winters pass before he’s finally back in himself, fingers running through his own hair, unconsciously folding the roots into braids before undoing them. He should most definitely stop—before someone sees, before someone realizes that he’s dared to keep this little part of his mother for himself—and he seizes when he hears footsteps nearing his area.

Briefly, there is hesitation thick in the room, but then a voice quietly murmurs out a greeting. “Brother,” Lan Zhan says, his voice quiet and full of concern.

He said the same thing two years ago, when Lan Xichen collapsed in the cold, but back then he’d been apologetic, asking for forgiveness for letting him collapse. Now, he just hesitantly places his fingers on Lan Xichen’s hair, carefully helping him undo the last of the braids. “Brother,” Lan Zhan continues, “Uncle said you threw up.”

He had, right in the middle of class. He remembers the gasps that had rippled through the room, the plain horror on the instructor’s face, and the pain in his stomach as he retched. “I did,” he responds.

“What did the physician say?”

Lan Xichen says, “Nothing is wrong. She doesn’t know what happened.” He does. He knows exactly why his head started spinning and his breath came heavy and oppressive. He knows exactly how his world turned upside down. It started with his new instructor smiling at his class and saying, “Today, we will discuss a story.”

It was a story about a butcher who worked hard until he became so much more. For a second, he could almost hear it told from his mother’s lips.

So he threw up.

Lan Zhan doesn’t believe him, he knows, but he doesn’t say a word, still dutifully unbraiding his hair. Lan Xichen lets it happen and wonders, briefly, if he should warn Lan Zhan of this travesty, this complete invasion of their mother’s privacy, but he realizes that Lan Zhan wouldn’t understand. After all, their mother never told the story to him, only to Lan Xichen, unbraiding his hair in the Jingshi. (And, for a moment, Lan Xichen wonders at how similar Lan Zhan is to their mother. Their uncle is always on the lookout to ensure neither of them turn into their father, but…but Lan Zhan really is a carbon copy of her in every way but mannerisms.

And so, Lan Xichen loves him even more than before, surprised at how that’s possible.)

Lan Xichen doesn’t say a word about it. Instead, he asks, “How was class today?”

He asks this every day, and he always receives similar answers: easy, difficult, interesting, uninteresting, etc. Today, however, Lan Zhan says, “Unimportant.”

That stops Lan Xichen dead in his tracks. “Every class is important,” he says firmly, wondering what on earth Lan Zhan was taught to inspire such a response.

Lan Zhan frowns. “You are more important. What happened?”

Ah. Lan Xichen once again finds himself turning away, shame coursing through him at the realization that his little brother is so concerned for him. “I will talk to Uncle about it,” is the only response he gives.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Lan Zhan nods and continues to unbraid Lan Xichen’s hair.

Lan Xichen wonders when his brother got so grown up.

***

Every night, Lan Xichen and his family performs a ritual: their uncle wishes them both a goodnight, gives them a hug, and then heads to sleep. Lan Xichen has learned that, as of late, Lan Zhan has taken to not hugging their uncle, but Lan Xichen still does—it’s a rare bit of his childhood that he does not want to let go of, and his uncle does not mention it.

Tonight, however, Lan Xichen doesn’t let his uncle go without a word. “I have a question,” he says.

Lan Qiren pauses, obviously taken by surprise. “What is it?” he asks.

Lan Xichen says, “Today, in class, Teacher was telling a story. I didn’t get to hear all of it.”

Lan Qiren frowns, contemplative. “What do you remember about it?”

He wets his lips. “It was about a butcher,” he explains. “That’s all I heard.”

“Ah, yes, the founder of the Nie Sect, Nie Fan. He was a butcher that started cultivating, as our Lan An was a monk who began cultivating. Tomorrow, I will tell you the story since you missed it in class. For now, sleep.”

Lan Xichen does not want to sleep. He wants to know why the story was known by others, why it wasn’t special like he always thought it was—why his story was out in the open, like a festering wound that no one let heal. However, exhaustion pulls at his features, dragging him under its spell so effectively that he knows that he will fall asleep soon, whether he likes it or not, so he nods in acceptance and watches his uncle’s form as he leaves Lan Xichen’s room.

Lan Zhan is probably already asleep, and all Lan Xichen will be, too, soon, but—he needs to do something. The endless itch lingers beneath his fingertips, and he finds himself moving before he even realizes what he’s doing. He is sitting in front of a mirror, hands in his hair, braiding and braiding until three long strands sit atop his head. His fingers shake and his shoulders ache, the only thing going through his head being variations of “Mother’s story, my story, our story” until it’s too much and he feels a pressure growing behind his eyes, his shoulders tensing.

He focuses on the chattering of his teeth and the texture of his hair, and by the time he finally stumbles over to his bed—forced into it from exhaustion, no longer quivering—his head is in braids.

That night, he dreams of his mother’s voice singing a song that he will never know the words of.

***

Once upon a time, there was a boy. Every day, the boy dreamed of being a butcher just like his father, so he learned everything he could. One day, his father passed away, but the boy was ready—he used his knowledge to become the best butcher in China. However, soon, his village was plagued by monsters of all sorts. Qinghe was sparsely populated back then, and cultivators were few in numbers, so unless a rogue stumbled upon them, his village was doomed. Nie Fan, seeing all the pain his peers were facing, decided to take matters into his own hands.

Using the very butchering knives he so dearly loved, Nie Fan cultivated until he had a golden core and then saved his village.

This is the story that Lan Xichen knows. What his mother never told him, though, is that there is more.

After becoming the protector of his village, others joined alongside him, cultivating in his manner. Their numbers grew and grew, even past his death, until it became a great sect: the Nie Sect.

Lan Xichen listens to the story with a bowed head, and he wonders what else his mother had kept from him.

***

The forests of Qinghe dwarf Lan Xichen, who is all of thirteen years old. Coming here was never his plan, but his uncle insisted, explaining that Lan Xichen needs to get accustomed to meeting with important people if he’s going to be Sect Leader one day. Lan Xichen nearly hissed back that no one ever asked him if he wanted to be Sect Leader—he doesn’t, not in the slightest, but no one ever asked his uncle if he wanted to rule the sect in the absence of his brother, so Lan Xichen held his tongue.

Now, he wishes he had said something—anything—to stay away from Qinghe, because if he had never come, then he would never have to see the Nie boy.

Gusu and Qinghe are not close geographically, and the GusuLan and the QingheNie are not close politically, so Lan Xichen has never had the (extremely dubious) pleasure of meeting a Nie cultivator until now. Of course he’s taken by surprise.

The boy swept up to the Lan contingent, drenched in olive and gold, saber held tightly in hand. When he bowed, Lan Xichen got a clear view of his head…and of the braids that sat on it. For a second, he was back in the Jingshi on that last day, before everything went so wrong, listening to his mother tell story after story, singing a sweet song.

This boy is like his mother, and he doesn’t understand why.

***

The Unclean Realms sprawl outward, a fortress made for the protection of its inhabitants without a care for aesthetic, but Lan Xichen sees beauty in it, anyway. He sees the thought in every wall, every door, every tile on the floor. While the people in it make Lan Xichen’s heart hammer in his chest, fingers shaking while hidden deep in his robes, the Unclean Realms itself feels like a haven, the likes of which he had never known before.

The meeting with Sect Leader Nie goes smoothly, and Lan Xichen even finds himself unwinding until Sect Leader Nie and his own uncle send him off with another boy. “Play,” Sect Leader Nie had said, and though Lan Qiren had made a face at the phrasing, he hadn’t contradicted him.

Nie Mingjue is broader than Lan Xichen, though a few inches shorter, and he is wearing the same braids as everyone else, broad saber clutched close. It looks a bit too big for his body, suggesting the expectation of future growth, and considering the height of his father, Lan Xichen doesn’t doubt it.

Nie Mingjue drags him around the Unclean Realms, showing him every nook and cranny, an interesting story accompanying every single one of them, chattering on and on until Lan Xichen could recognize his expression by just the dips of his voice.

It’s when they sit beneath a willow tree—a desperate attempt to escape the heat—that Lan Xichen finally asks him, “Those braids…where did you get them?” His voice is so soft, so hesitant, and for a moment, he thinks that Nie Mingjue didn’t even hear him over the rustling leaves.

Then, Nie Mingjue says, “Oh, these? Everyone in the Nie Sect wears them. I’m Sect Heir, so I know how to do it.”

Lan Xichen doesn’t look at him, eyes intent on staring into the horizon and whatever is beyond. He asks, “Can you teach me?” Perhaps they merely look similar. Perhaps it is a different braid entirely. Perhaps Lan Xichen is concerned about nothing.

But Nie Mingjue just laughs. “I can’t teach it to someone who isn’t from the Sect!” As if the mere idea is silly. Then a mischievous look falls over him. “So unless some beautiful maiden sweeps you off your feet and brings you here as her groom, you won’t be wearing the braids any time soon.”

Lan Xichen stays silent.

***

The Lan contingent stays the night, readying to depart tomorrow.

Right before bed, Lan Xichen braids his hair as well as he can, and he stares in the mirror for much longer than is appropriate. He lets his fingers glance over the hardening edge of his jaw, the point of his nose, the skin of his lips. He peers at the warm brown of his eyes, the height of his cheekbones, and the paleness of his skin. Then, finally, he looks at the braids, and he realizes that his reflection is more real than he will ever be.

Breaking curfew is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, but Lan Xichen isn’t in the Cloud Recesses. So, when he slowly opens the door to his quarters and steps outside, he’s not doing anything wrong. He stays cautious, anyway, looking over his shoulder to ensure that his uncle hasn’t magically appeared to scold him.

The Nie Sect has no official curfew, as far as he can tell—if it does, then it’s much later than the Cloud Recesses’, for disciples are still wandering the halls, attending to duties and chatting animatedly about this or that. They all ignore him, and Lan Xichen feels invisible, like he’s blended into the wall, and he’s all the more grateful for it. After all, the braids still sit on his head and if anyone were to notice him, he wouldn’t be able to stand it. (In reality, he is probably not invisible. Instead, he’d slipped on the night robes that the rooms had stored away. He thinks he must look like a normal Nie disciple. He quite likes the thought.)

Lan Xichen is a ghost, haunting these halls without rest until it is well past his bedtime. He is unseen and unknown—until a voice calls out, “Young Master Lan?”

He sees himself turn around, still feeling lost in a dream. His hands go up to his hair, wondering who has discovered him and how he is going to explain his impropriety. For a second, he fears it’s Nie Mingjue, who will take offense to Lan Xichen wearing these braids even after being told they were only for Nie disciples. He thinks of the boy who he’d become rather fond of twisting his face in rage, and shame courses through him, hot and unbearable.

But it is not Nie Mingjue who finds him. Instead, it is a young boy—younger than Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue, definitely, though he distinctly has Nie Mingjue’s eyes and nose. Vaguely, Lan Xichen remembers Nie Mingjue mentioning a younger brother who was Lan Wangji’s age. “…Second Young Master Nie?”

Nie Huaisang shrinks backward, obviously startled by Lan Xichen’s recognition, but then squares his shoulders. “Young Master Lan, are you okay?”

Lan Xichen sees himself turn. “I…” How is he supposed to answer that? He doesn’t feel all that here. He’s watching himself, no control over his own body, everything out of focus, and—

He’s floating.

“Young Master Lan?”

“Yes?”

“Are you lost?” Maybe he is. Can you get lost in a dream? “Young Master Lan, can you hear me?”

“I can,” Lan Xichen hears himself say.

“Do…do you want to come with me for a bit?” Lan Xichen doesn’t see a reason not to, so he follows Nie Huaisang without protest. “Oh, good.”

Good? He doesn’t think so. Vaguely, Lan Xichen hears Nie Huaisang talk—about what, he can’t tell. It blends into the background along with everything else, but there’s certain dips and edges to it that pull him closer, even as he floats. Soon, he finds himself in what he assumes are Nie Huaisang’s chambers as Nie Huaisang prattles on. “I smuggled some sweets from the kitchen but they’re new kinds that I’ve never tried before. My tastebuds are delicate—Brother always scolds me about it, but it’s not my fault! Young Master Lan, can you tell me what it tastes like? I need to be prepared.”

Soon, a few pieces of candy are shoved into Lan Xichen’s hand. His head shifts upward and Nie Huaisang encourages, “Go on! Just tell me the taste and texture.”

Okay. Lan Xichen slips the first piece into his mouth and focuses on it as much as he can manage. “It’s sweet,” he says.

“How sweet? Honey sweet? Sugar sweet? Berry sweet?”

“Honey, but it feels like…sand. Gritty. Do you like gritty things?”

“Maybe,” Nie Huaisang allows. “Does it have a bad aftertaste?”

Lan Xichen swallows and then waits. “No. It’s good.”

“What about the others?”

So Lan Xichen goes on, describing candy after candy until he’s actually holding the pieces, not watching himself eat them. He stops abruptly, placing his palm on the table and then asking, “What was that?”

Nie Huaisang smiles kindly. “Are you feeling better now?”

Better, yes. Good, not precisely. But certainly better. Moonlight streams into the room from the open window, clashing with the flickering of Nie Huaisang’s lamps. Disciples are still chattering, doing their duties, and the Nie night robes that Lan Xichen has thrown on are light and freeing despite the terrible pressure creeping up his spine. “I am,” he says. “What did you do?”

“Helped you come back to yourself,” Nie Huaisang explains. He stumbles to his feet and then goes deeper into his chambers, still talking. “It happens to my cousin, sometimes, too, so I learned how to help.” He comes back with a cup of water, sloshing against the opening with each step he takes.

Lan Xichen takes it and drinks. “I apologize for any trouble—”

“No trouble!” Nie Huaisang immediately insists, only to go red. “I mean, helping people is what cultivators do, right? I might not be that great of a cultivator in any other sense, but I can still do this!”

Ah, yes. The Second Young Master Nie who hates cultivating. “Then, I thank you.”

Nie Huaisang’s face flushes even deeper and he turns away. For a moment, Lan Xichen rests in amused silence, but then Nie Huaisang says, “Young Master Lan, those braids…”

Lan Xichen freezes. “Oh,” he says immediately, hands shooting up to his hair, “I apologize, I’ll take them off immediately.”

“No! I mean,” Nie Huaisang backtracks, “you can wear it! The Nie disciples all wear it but. No one ever mentioned that anyone else couldn’t.”

“But your brother…”

“Brother says a lot of things!” Nie Huaisang says. “Don’t always listen to him! You can wear the braids if you want. You look good in them, anyway. And with those robes, I almost thought you were a Nie disciples!”

Lan Xichen’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yeah!”

And Lan Xichen smiles. He smiles when he goes back to his room as well, and he even manages to smile as he unbraids his hair.

It’s the first time anyone has told him that he’s looked good in these braids—not even his mother had said such a thing. Lan Xichen thinks that, for now, everything is going to be okay.

***

The first time Lan Xichen really breaks a rule is when he sneaks into the Cloud Recesses’ weaponry. Only the senior disciples are allowed in—which a fourteen-year-old Lan Xichen very distinctly is not—but he has a question in mind that can’t be solved in any other fashion.

Carefully treading the wooden floors, he enters the side room that not even the senior disciples are allowed into, and he observes its contents. Stacked into neat little rows are hundreds of swords, all belonging to his deceased martial siblings. Off to the side, however, he finds a crypt—wholly out of place.

Slowly, he slides the lid off. Just a bit, just enough to peak inside, and he finds a saber—broad and imperious, to be wielded by a master. Its glare is blinding in the dull light of the room, its sharpened edge pricking him without needing to touch him. Atop the casket, there is an engraving that he will never forget: Nie Jiaying.

“Jiaying.” It’s what his uncle used to refer to his mother on the rare occasions they spoke. “Jiaying.” It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. “Jiaying.” It’s for a wonderful woman with scars, braids, and a saber.

“Nie Jiaying.”

And she’d told him that he was the perfect Lan, but she was a Nie and Lan Xichen had always loved her so much. Lan Xichen bows his head and cries.

***

Lan Huan was five when he found out that, one day, he was going to be Sect Leader. When Lan Qiren told him that, he buried his face into his uncle’s robes and said, “But I don’t want to. A-Zhan can be the Sect Leader.”

Lan Qiren’s face hardened and he spoke, voice sharp, “Don’t forsake your brother when this is your duty.”

Lan Huan buried his face deeper into his uncle’s robes. “But if I’m Sect Leader,” he says, voice muffled, “then how will Mother and I travel around China?” To see all the places she’d told him about, to make her stop looking so sad when she talked about them. He wanted to see them all and…and then maybe he’d pretend to be Sect Leader so A-Zhan could do the same thing, too. Then they could both go with Mother and Mother would get to go twice, because she deserved it.

Lan Qiren’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “You will do no such thing.”

“Why not?”

“You will be the Sect Leader, and your mother cannot leave the Jingshi.”

Lan Huan looked up. “Even then?”

“Even then.”

“Why?”

Lan Qiren pursed his lips. “Your mother did something very bad, A-Huan. This is her punishment.”

Lan Huan didn’t understand. Whenever he got in trouble, he had to copy lines and do handstands. Sometimes he saw the older disciples get hit with the discipline rulers. He’d never heard of a punishment like having to stay inside all the time. He didn’t think he would like it.

Later, Lan Xichen learned what, exactly, his mother had done. Later, he would learn that the normal punishment was death. Later he learned that his father had married her so she could escape that fate, only to lock her away from the world she loved so much.

But, at that moment, Lan Huan was five and anything was possible, so he told himself he didn’t need to be Sect Leader Lan—he would be A-Huan, travelling the world with Mother (and maybe A-Zhan) and making her smile. That’s all he ever wanted.

***

Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue stay in contact through letters, talking about when they’ll next meet and what they’re going to do. As Nie Mingjue’s sixteenth birthday draws closer and closer, they also discuss all the things that they plan to do when he comes to the Cloud Recesses.

Three months beforehand, news arrives: Nie Mingjue’s father has died, leaving Nie Mingjue as Sect Leader Nie. He sends a very formal apology letter, explaining why he can’t attend classes in the Cloud Recesses, and it is not in his handwriting but Lan Xichen keeps silent about it. Lan Qiren heads to the Unclean Realms as soon as news reaches them in an effort to help Nie Mingjue deal with his new responsibilities, and Lan Xichen is left behind.

Lan Wangji approaches him that night. “Brother,” he says, sweeping into Lan Xichen’s quarters and seating himself across from him, “I heard what happened.” Lan Xichen seals his eyes shut. Lan Wangji continues, “You…did not go to the Unclean Realms.” He’s surprised that Lan Xichen hasn’t gone to comfort his friend.

Lan Xichen shakes his head. “Uncle said that my being there would make things more complicated for him. I’ve arranged to visit in a few months.”

Lan Wangji observes him. “Second Young Master Nie,” he says, “has informed me that Sect Leader Nie would not be opposed to your presence.”

Lan Xichen pauses. “You’ve spoken to Huaisang?”

“He and I have kept up a correspondence.”

Lan Xichen knew that the two were in contact, but he never expected them to talk about these kinds of things. Lan Xichen looks up, staring at the ceiling. “Is he positive?”

“Yes.” He hesitates. “And he mentioned…he would like to meet you, as well.”

This causes Lan Xichen’s head to spin in confusion. “What?”

“Second Young Master Nie wishes to meet you.”

Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang exchange gifts—little, useless trinkets that are technically not allowed, but to which Lan Qiren always turns a blind eye when he visits Lan Xichen’s residence—but they haven’t written actual, substantial words to each other. And why would Nie Huaisang want to meet? The last time they’d met for longer than a few minutes was on that first time he’d visited the Unclean Realms and caused Nie Huaisang so much trouble.

Nie Huaisang was being polite, Lan Xichen decides. And his uncle is right, anyway—Lan Xichen’s presence will only make things worse for Nie Mingjue. Who knows what kind of power struggle is happening within the walls of the Unclean Realms? Having to deal with Lan Xichen won’t be helpful at all.

“I shouldn’t impose, Wangji.”

Lan Wangji looks like he wants to protest, but no words leave his lips. Instead, he bows his head and says, “Yes, Brother.” The amount of skepticism and exasperation he manages to pack into those two words is astonishing.

Lan Xichen pointedly ignores it.

***

Lan Xichen expects Nie Mingjue to never again step foot in the Cloud Recesses. It’s unconscious and illogical, but he sees an ocean between them now—an ocean he so desperately wants to cross, even when everyone insists on him making his home on the other side.

That ocean seems a little smaller when Nie Mingjue sends him a certain letter. Its contents are very simple: Nie Mingjue cannot attend class at the Cloud Recesses, but Nie Huaisang most definitely can and he will be when he turns 15. Nie Mingjue came to iron out the details and they sat and spoke as if nothing had ever gone wrong—as if they were still just two Young Masters, hiding from the sun beneath a willow tree.

The day before Nie Huaisang is due to arrive, Lan Xichen receives a letter from Nie Mingjues. “You and that brother of yours better take care of Huaisang,” it says. Affectionate as always, and Lan Xichen’s lips quirk upwards as he passes it over to Lan Wangji. He gives it a deadpan stare.

“Rules are rules,” he intones. “If Nie Huaisang breaks any, he will get punished.”

Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow. “And when did you start calling him by his name?”

There is a pause before Lan Wangji’s ears flare up, brilliant red. “Brother…”

It’s nice to know that his brother has a friend.

***

Nie Huaisang’s arrival in the Cloud Recesses is marked with all the fanfare that a Young Master of his status deserves, and he delights in every bit of it. It’s nothing material, of course, but there are a great deal of greetings and tours and fawning over the quality of robes—something Lan Xichen had never before taken into account, but now he runs his fingers through his own and wonders if it will live up to Nie Huaisang’s standards. It will, most likely, since his are among the best quality in the Sect.

His robes are special. They’re a cocoon with which he wraps himself, an illusion behind which he hides. These robes say that he is Lan Xichen, the First Jade of Lan, the most eligible bachelor in China. He is none of these things, but it’s easier to pretend when he wears these robes. (Sometimes, though, the robes are not enough. Sometimes, when nothing seems right, Lan Xichen is not even sure if he is Lan Xichen. And at those times, his robes hurt more than they help.)

Lan Xichen makes sure to check in on Nie Huaisang often, just as Nie Mingjue asked him to. He mentions time and time again to focus on studies and get enough sleep, to come to him if he ever needs anything, and every time Nie Huaisang giggles and says, “Of course, Brother Xichen!” And then he never comes.

Lan Xichen almost thinks that Nie Huaisang has resolved to ignore him entirely when, close to curfew, he gets a knock on his door. It’s a bit late for visitors, but far enough from curfew that any visitors can still arrive back at their residence after a decent conversation. He does not expect to open the door to Nie Huaisang in tears.

“Huaisang?” Lan Xichen gasps, ushering him inside.

Nie Huaisang clings to him, sobbing into his night robes. “I can’t do it,” he gasps. “I can’t do it, Brother Xichen. It’s too hard.”

“What are you talking about?” Lan Xichen asks.

“School!” he exclaims. “I just don’t understand! I try and I try but I’m just—just stupid!”

“You’re not stupid,” Lan Xichen says immediately, sitting him down. “Come, Huaisang, let’s—” He suddenly freezes when the smell hits him. “Are you drunk?”

“I am,” Nie Huaisang admits, and there’s so much shame in his voice that Lan Xichen can’t bring himself to be mad at him.

“Oh, Huaisang,” he says. “Is school really troubling you that much?”

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang says. “I don’t know! I just…this isn’t working, Brother Xichen.” He lets his head fall onto the table with a soft thud, and Lan Xichen grimaces.

Carefully, he pries Nie Huaisang up and says, “I’ll help.”

“How?”

“I’ll teach you in the evenings,” he says. “Hopefully, some extra attention can help you absorb the information better.”

Nie Huaisang stares at him with wide eyes. “Really? You would do that?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

Lan Xichen blinks. The obvious answer is because Nie Mingjue asked him to look out for Nie Huaisang, but what actually comes out of his mouth is, “Because you’re my friend.”

Nie Huaisang stares, then smiles. “I’m really lucky to have both Jades of Lan as my friends.”

Lan Xichen perks up, delight seeping into him. “Wangji actually admitted that he’s your friend?” he demands.

“Not yet, but he’s getting there! I’ll wear him down eventually…” he says. Lan Xichen lets out a light huff of amusement.

They continue like that, time whirling alongside their words, moon rising ever so slightly higher in the sky, until Lan Xichen has to finally put an end to it. “It’s nearly curfew,” he says. “I’ll overlook your drinking just this once, but you should get back to your room before curfew. The disciples on patrol won’t be anywhere near as kind as I am.” He’s already setting the tea away, rearranging the miscellaneous objects that had fallen out of their places along the way. Nie Huaisang watches it all happen.

Then, Nie Huaisang says, “Do you have a mirror?”

Lan Xichen blinks. “Of course.” He immediately points him in the direction of his mirror, which sits, largely concealed, by his bed. Nie Huaisang ambles over to it with a hum, out of Lan Xichen’s sight. He doesn’t pay it any further mind until he hears Nie Huaisang give off a huff of frustration.

“What’s wrong, Huaisang?” he asks, approaching him.

Nie Huaisang’s fingers are tangled in his own hair, sloppy and shaking as he tugs on the strands. “My hands won’t work!” he says. “They’re all…” he waves his fingers around in an approximation of something Lan Xichen doesn’t quite understand.

He settles for a laugh. “You’re drunk, of course your movement is impaired.”

“I’m not that drunk!” Nie Huaisang exclaims. Lan Xichen merely raises an eyebrow and watches as Nie Huaisang shrinks away from him. “Fine,” Nie Huaisang admits, “maybe I’m a little drunk.” His eyes suddenly widen in an epiphany. “Brother Xichen!” he says. “You do it!”

“Do what?”

“Braid my hair for me!”

Lan Xichen’s world grinds to a halt. “What?”

“My hair! I know you can braid!”

He should not. He most definitely should not. The braid is not for him, it is for an entire sect surnamed “Nie,” and he is not part of that sect. He will never be a part of that sect. The knowledge of the braid is merely a relic left behind by his mother, who had a right to it. It is not for him to indulge in. “Huaisang,” he whispers, “I can’t.”

“You can,” Nie Huaisang insists. “I’ve seen you do it before! Please, Brother Xichen, my fingers are too…too slippery!” He demonstrates by trying to braid his hair. All he succeeds in doing is mashing the strands together. “Brother Xichen,” he whines.

Lan Xichen should not—but Nie Huaisang is staring at him with such open desperation in his eyes, and how can Lan Xichen refuse? So, very quietly, he says, “Okay.”

Braiding Nie Huaisang’s hair is different from braiding his own. Working on the heads of others is entirely new territory for him—he’s never done it before. Not to his mother and not to Lan Wangji. And yet, he finds himself doing it with such ease on Nie Huaisang’s head, carefully untangling knots and twisting them into braids that fall against his robes so neatly that Nie Huaisang marvels at them. “Brother Xichen,” he says once, “you really are good, aren’t you?”

Lan Xichen doesn’t say anything, because lying is forbidden and he doesn’t have the heart to explain to Nie Huaisang that he’s really, really not. So he keeps braiding, long past the grease that crawls up his spine and the terror that sits in his throat, until his own hands are shaking so badly that he can’t braid anymore. He’s done at that point, anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

Nie Huaisang marvels at his reflection in the mirror. “You’re the best, Brother Xichen!” he insists.

Lan Xichen turns away and doesn’t say a word, clutching his own robes tighter around him in a desperate attempt to ward off the shivers that wrack his body. Nie Huaisang, too drunk to notice the change, smothers Lan Xichen with a hug from behind, startling him so badly that he immediately turns around to steady him. “Brother Xichen,” Nie Huaisang whines, “you’re really going to teach me, right?”

“Yes,” Lan Xichen manages through chattering teeth.

“Then I’ll bring my books! I promise!” He bounds out of the room without so much as a goodbye, leaving Lan Xichen clutching at empty air.

He closes his eyes and he’s still shaking. Sleep does not come easy that night.

***

There are good days, and there are bad days. The bad days were getting fewer and fewer, but they hadn’t disappeared—not at all. Two weeks after Nie Huaisang first enlists his help, he has a bad day. He wakes up coated in grease, head too light and too heavy at the same time. His chest aches, his back aches—his very being aches, and he can’t do anything about it.

He does not know if he can help Nie Huaisang today, but he decides to try, anyway.

There is a cup of tea in his hands, scalding hot, when Nie Huaisang bounds through his door, smiling brightly. “Brother Xichen!” he exclaims. “Brother Xichen, I kind of understood what Teacher Lan was talking about today, so I don’t have to take up too much of your time today! I can—Brother Xichen?” He stops abruptly.

Lan Xichen’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “What?”

“Are you alright?”

Lan Xichen swallows. That is a very good question. Unfortunately, it only has one answer. “I don’t feel good.” It’s the only way he can think of to describe the claws that scratch down his neck, leaving his jaw clenched and head bowed. Spiders crawl up his spine, fire burns behind his eyes, and through it all he can only manage to sit still and wait for it to leave him alone.

Carefully, Nie Huaisang sets his books on the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“We should start doing your homework.”

“But do you want to talk about it?” Nie Huaisang insists.

Lan Xichen takes in a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

“What do you know, then?”

Lan Xichen’s jaw aches from the effort of keeping it still. Then, very slowly, he raises his hand to his hair and cards his fingers through it, trying to grab hold of a few strands. His hands won’t stay still and suddenly, Lan Xichen knows exactly what he wants. “I want to braid my hair.” He sets his hands down. “But I can’t.”

Nie Huaisang brightens. “Ah, then I’ll braid it for you!”

Lan Xichen bows his head and he can’t find it in himself to turn Nie Huaisang away, so he forces himself to relax as Nie Huaisang places his hands on Lan Xichen’s head, stroking his hair gently. If Lan Xichen closes his eyes, then he can almost pretend it’s his mother doing it for him, instead. Nie Huaisang doesn’t have any calluses on his arms, no scars or discoloration, but he doesn’t need them because his fingers follow the same patterns, do the same dance, and, in the end, he sings the same song.

Lan Xichen’s eyes fly open. “Huaisang!” he gasps. “Where did you hear that song?”

Nie Huaisang blinks, startled. “O-Oh, it’s a common song from Qinghe. Should I not have sung it? I’m sorry if it—”

“No,” Lan Xichen immediately denies. “Don’t stop.”

Hesitantly Nie Huaisang continues. They manage to stay like that for a few seconds before Lan Xichen whispers, “My mother used to sing that song.” Nie Huaisang stops. “She also used to wear these braids and she had a saber and—and her name was Nie Jiaying.”

For a moment, there is silence. Then, “I don’t think I’ve heard that name before,” Nie Huaisang murmurs, lost in thought. “She must have been part of one of the branch families…I’ll look into it, if you want.”

Does he want it? Maybe. He’ll think about it later. For now, he says, “I loved her so much, Huaisang.”

“I know, Brother Xichen. Her loss must have hit you really hard.”

“It was worse on Wangji.”

“But it was still hard on you.”

Lan Xichen squeezes his eyes shut. Then, “I’m still mad at her, though.”

“Why?” He sounds genuinely curious.

“She…she would unbraid my hair and call me the perfect Lan.”

“Is that bad?” Nie Huaisang asks. His head is tilted sideways, genuine confusion resting on his features. “You are amazing, Brother Xichen.”

“But I don’t want to be the perfect Lan.”

“What do you want to be, then?”

Lan Xichen doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone so indulging, so willing to talk to him at his worst moments. Lan Wangji would stay a silent guardian at his side, and his uncle would help him get his mind off of bad thoughts, but Nie Huaisang is here and he’s…he’s talking to him about it. So Lan Xichen answers. “I want to go to the places Mother talked about. I want to go to the forests and see the beasts and wear the braids. I—” he swallows— “I don’t think I want to be a Lan.” And it’s true, he thinks. It’s selfish of him to want so desperately to abandon his home for a place he’s only step foot in a handful of times…but it feels so dear, so intrinsically important to his very being, and he wants it so badly.

Nie Huaisang looks contemplative. “You don’t have to be a Lan. You could join the Nie Sect. Brother definitely wouldn’t stop you.”

“But how can I just leave?” How can he leave his brother? How can he leave his uncle? How can he leave his mother’s saber?

“It doesn’t have to be forever. You could visit. You could come back. I don’t think Grandmaster Lan would stop you, either.”

And then he thinks of telling these ideas to his uncle, who will definitely be against them, and a feeling of such complete and utter helplessness enters him that he can’t blink away the tears that gather in his eyes, and he desperately tries to wipe them away as they fall over onto his cheeks. “He’d be upset,” he sobs. “He wouldn’t let me.”

Immediately, he’s enveloped by a hug—this time from the front. “Brother Xichen,” Nie Huaisang says, “he doesn’t get to decide for you! If you want to run away and join another sect, then he’ll just have to suck it up! And…and he really does adore you, you know. He’d be mad but I don’t think he’d stay mad.”

“And Wangji?” Lan Xichen whispers, still holding him close.

Nie Huaisang pulls back a bit and laughs. “Oh please, Lan Wangji would cheer you on even if you murdered somebody.”

Lan Xichen shakes his head. “He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t.” He can’t believe any of it. They’d hate him for the rest of his days, he’d never get to see them again, and even though he would be free, he’d have to live with the knowledge that his own family hated him. “I can’t do it.”

Nie Huaisang grabs him fiercely by the shoulders. “You can!” he insists. “You’re strong. Everyone believes  in you, Brother Xichen, I promise. If anyone can pull it off, then it’s you.” He looks frantic, voice stubborn and unyielding, and Lan Xichen can’t think, doesn’t understand—

Suddenly, Nie Huaisang moves and Lan Xichen doesn’t realize what’s happening until Nie Huaisang’s lips are on his own, and the world grinds to a halt as Nie Huaisang grips the front of Lan Xichen’s robes. For a second, Lan Xichen doesn’t know what to do, but then he tugs Nie Huaisang closer, desperate to keep his warmth, letting it chase away his shivers. It’s a chaste kiss, from what he knows. Lips on lips, completely still, moving only with their breathing, but Lan Xichen wouldn’t change it for the world.

When Nie Huaisang finally does pull back, he presses their foreheads together, not moving to escape Lan Xichen’s grip. “I believe in you,” he says. “I always have. Do what’s right for you, Brother Xichen. I won’t let anyone stop you.”

Lan Xichen bows his head onto Nie Huaisang’s shoulder and decides that, maybe, he’ll give it a shot.

***

Once a year, Lan Wangji skips every class he has for a day and kneels in front of a long-forgotten house in a corner of the Cloud Recesses. It’s always in the snow, where he bears the cold—with plenty to keep him warm, of course.

Today, for the first time in eight years, Lan Xichen kneels with him. Lan Wangji does not turn to look at him, keeping his back straight, staring stubbornly ahead. Lan Xichen starts the conversation. “She deserved so much better,” he says. “I didn’t understand it back then, but she did.” Back then, all he’d known was that his mother wanted to travel but she wasn’t allowed to, and that made him sad. That was all. Now, he comprehends the true horror of what their mother was put through. Being locked away in such a small house for the rest of her days—no wonder she died so early. (And he never did learn how she died. He’s not sure he wants to find out.)

Lan Wangji still doesn’t turn to him, but he says, “She did deserve better.”

Lan Xichen blinks, surprised that his brother responded at all. Then, “I don’t want something like that to ever happen again.”

“I won’t let it.” There is steel in Lan Wangji’s voice, the unbending strength that Lan Xichen knows means that he will keep his word. There will be no more prisoners in the Cloud Recesses as long as Lan Wangji has any say in the matter—and long past it, too.

“It would be easier for a Sect Leader to accomplish that,” Lan Xichen says, forcing his voice to level out.

“I know,” Lan Wangji replies.

“You’d have an easier time if you were Sect Leader.”

Now, there is a brief bit of silence. Hesitation, Lan Xichen knows. Confusion, a break to comprehend new information. Then, “Brother?”

“You’d be a better Sect Leader than me, Wangji.”

“Brother, I’m…I’m not good with this.” With politics. With talking to others. With so many things. As if Lan Xichen is any better.

“But you want to help,” Lan Xichen whispers. “And you can only ever do everything you can if you’re Sect Leader.” Lan Wangji’s heart is pure and radiant, and Lan Xichen sometimes doesn’t know how they could be siblings. People call them the Twin Jades of Lan, but Lan Xichen knows the truth: Lan Wangji is the only Jade. Lan Xichen is an imposter hiding in his silk cocoons.

Lan Wangji stays silent for some more time. Then, “What are you saying?”

“Would you be Sect Leader if you were given the chance? Be honest, Wangji.”

The very world slows around them, as if it, too, is holding its breath for Lan Wangji’s response. And then he says, “Yes. What about you, Brother?”

Lan Xichen hums and closes his eyes. “Mother used to tell me so many stories of far away places. Of brotherhood. Of fights and battle and glory.”

“Is that what Brother wants?”

Lan Xichen thinks of Qinghe and its vast forests, and then the Unclean Realms and its unrestrained inhabitants. “Yes,” he decides. “That’s what I want.”

“Then Brother should have what he wants.”

“So should you, Wangji.”

It’s nothing official, nothing definite, but—at that moment—everything suddenly feels so much easier than it ever was before.

Lan Xichen kneels in the snow with Lan Wangji for the rest of the day, just as he had eight years ago, but now he stands tall and he doesn’t float. When he returns to his rooms, there are a few pieces of candy placed on his table and a letter from Nie Huaisang: “So you don’t forget when we first met.”

Lan Xichen pops one into his mouth and he remembers a night spent laughing with Nie Huaisang in the halls of the Unclean Realms, and he smiles.

For the first time in forever, he looks upon the future and he smiles.

fin

[coke-and-candy]

Enough

Ok how about instead of the crap ending we got for the latest episode, we go a different route...

Edit: Got an addition to this up now :)

Enough: An Objective Perspective  (link)

----

Sabine had had enough. 

Years of having her only child suffer due to the blatant incompetence, negligence, and ineptitude of the faculty of Collège Françoise Dupont. Years of seeing her sweet little girl bullied by the mayor’s daughter and the school refusing to take action against the spoiled girl. Years of having to watch as her daughter’s natural light faded until it was barely a spark. 

And finally, FINALLY! Her Marinette regained her light and she started to shine again (no thanks to any of the teachers at the school) only for it to begin to dim once more because, YET AGAIN! the school refused to take action against a child whose parents were in high government positions. 

Sabine and Tom hadn’t believed for a second that their daughter had cheated. Marinette hated liars and she hated cheaters, there wasn’t a single fiber in her being that would even allow her to even THINK about doing such a thing. They had seen Marinette studying for over two weeks for that test! The extra late night study sessions, the constant anxiety leading up to said test, and finally her last minute cramming before she rushed off to school that morning. 

The principle’s willingness to believe that little liar...

Oh she knew all about that little liar. 

After a particularly rough day at school it hadn’t taken long for Marinette to break down in tears and spill everything to her and her husband about a certain new student that wouldn’t be able to tell the truth even if someone paid her. Marinette has spilled how she was slowly being alienated from her friends, how the stress was just piling up, how people (friends she had known for years) weren’t talking to her as much as they believed a liar over her, how her feelings were being trivialized and her concerns brushed aside as mere jealousy, and how she was having a hard time staying positive in order to not be targeted by an akuma. 

Sabine didn’t think it was possible to be angrier than she had been that night. As she discussed possible courses of action with her husband she realized that they had no proof that Marinette was being bullied to such a degree, but they trusted and believed their daughter. In the end they decided that they could not pull Marinette out and transfer her in the middle of the school year. That did not mean that she would still be there come the next school year. They had started coming up with a list of other possible schools that very night. One thing was for certain... things could not continue the way that they had been unfolding. 

So they had decided to support Marinette as much as they could and kept a close eye on how the school was handling the situation. For a while it seemed that things had tapered off a bit, Marinette wasn’t as stressed and her light was starting to return. 

That did not mean the problem was resolved though...

And then they had gotten the call from Domacles and Marinette had been expelled, all based on the word of one girl that had been increasingly antagonizing her. Even though there had been countless instances that other students had done the exact same thing, or worse, and had barely gotten a slap on the wrist for it, Marinette was being punished with barely any proof. 

Despite that cheating was completely unlike her and the evidence could have easily been staged to frame her...

That had been the last straw for Sabine. 

It had made her and Tom’s decision all that easier. 

Marinette would no longer be attending that hellhole, Collège Françoise Dupont. 

Even after Marinette’s expulsion had been rescinded, enough was enough. 

Sabine would forever treasure the stunned look on the faculty’s faces when she announced that they could take their decision and oh so kindly shove it. She may not have had used those exact words but the meaning had been clear. 

Marinette Dupain-Cheng would no longer be attending Dupont effective immediately. 

The husband and wife bakers refused to subject their only child to further harassment and abuse at the hands and incompetence of the teachers and principal of this school. 

Honestly, the only reason that they had not taken Marinette out years ago was because of the close proximity the school was to their home, making the commute easy for Marinette, and the outstanding reputation the school had. But now they could clearly see HOW the school had maintained such an amazing reputation. 

Well... they can keep their reputation but it would not come at the cost of their daughter’s mental, physical, and emotional well-being. 

There were other school that were just as impressive and Sabine had no doubt in her mind (even if Marinette’s self-esteem did) that Marinette would easily find a place at one of them. She was one of the top student in the school, had an impressive resume of community service, and had already won several designing competitions over the years with the biggest one being the Derby Hat competition by Gabriel Agreste. Recommendations would also not be an issue as Marinette had several high profile clientele, such as Nadja Chamuck, Jagged Stone, and Clara Nightingale, just to name a few. 

It was only Marinette’s humbleness that prevented her from flaunting just how much success and connections she already had earned, quite an impressive feat for a fourteen-year-old student. 

And that was before Sabine and Tom used THEIR connections...

Marinette had been, understandably, upset at the idea of leaving her friends behind and had begged them to let her stay at Dupont, but there was no changing Sabine Cheng and Tom Dupain’s mind on this issue. Marinette’s well-being came first and foremost before her happiness. As much as it pained them to see their little girl upset they could no longer allow for such abuse to continue. 

As soon as it was possible Marinette would be attending a new school, even if it was in the middle of the school year. 

Until then, Marinette would be helping out in the bakery and independently studying. 

Meanwhile, Sabine had a few calls to make.

----

Whelp let know what you guys think and if you think I should continue this. Honestly, this was just a little drabble I had to get out of my system. 

[eolewyn1010]

3 seasons of Charité - upsides and downsides

Includes spoilers for all three seasons!

What I like about Charité, season 1:

- Ida is a relatable and stubborn woman, and while I think the protagonists of the newer two seasons are written better and more interestingly, she makes for a good central character

- Behring is great to watch, complex, enthusiastic, arrogant, passionate, desperately forlorn, sweetly encouraging, irascible, honest, and I’m always torn between loving and hating him with all my heart

- he also stands in for how badly society was suited to handle people with psychological issues back in the day

-  actually, none of the characters are simple or one-sided; expectations are often subverted – Behring is not heartless, but he can’t just be “saved” either, neither Koch nor Virchow are as benign as they seem at first, Tischendorf is not the sweet young Prince Charming who’ll give Ida the dream life she deserves, Hedwig is not a brainless little floozie with no deeper thoughts or feelings, neither Therese nor Martha are all the strict boss ladies they want to be, Edith is not just a snotty bitch etc.

- medical history of that time, a blunt look on methods and circumstances

- the rivalry between the doctors; it’s fun to watch them passive-aggressively piss on each other

- the staging of the Tuberculin scandal was really effective, with all the hyping, the downfall and the consequences

- we get sweethearts! Stine is a sweetheart, Else is a sweetheart, Therese is a sweetheart, Dr. Kitasato is a sweetheart, and most of all Dr. Ehrlich. I like kind people, ok? Especially in a setting where so many people are asses

- the music is atmospheric and quite nice

- despite two options of marriage, the female protagonist remains single and gets to focus on her career, even in a time and setting that’s not supportive

- I’m having a blast with Minckwitz – he’s such a bitch, I love it

What I hate:

- the lesbian dies for no good reason

- did our main character really have to be a tragic, left-all-alone orphan in debts? Would you like some cheese with that whine?

- the big, hammy speeches get on my nerves after a while

- my sweet lesbian Therese dies, awfully, of frickin’ tuberculosis

- say what you will, Ida and Behring could have made it work; I think they would have been good for each other. Kinda disappointed

- Else Spinola deserved better

- poor Therese dies, thinking that God punishes her for being in love with Ida

- those weird slo-mo shots between scenes don’t serve any purpose

- what’s with the random fortuneteller scene? What was that good for?

- THERESE DIES! We go with f***king Bury Your Gays??? F*** YOU!

_________________________________

What I like about Charité, season 2:

- Anni and Dr. Sauerbruch – different than with Ida, we get two focal characters who aren’t presented as doubtlessly morally good. On the contrary, Anni starts out as quite the happy-go-lucky little Nazi follower – and then we get all the character development; hell yeah!

- Anni chooses to keep and raise her disabled baby herself, come hell or high water; damn, she fights for that kid. And Martin is positive disabled representation, too – thanks for giving me a handicapped veteran who’s not a bitter, drunk wreck just whining about what a cripple he is! He’s got a grip on his life, and the leg only ever comes up on three occasions; it doesn’t define him

- Otto, Martin, Doc Jung, Margot, Maria Fritsch and Kolbe are more clearly positive characters, but they aren’t one-sided, either – like, Otto plays that bright sunshine, but there’s so much seething in him. My sweet baby boy

- same for the negative characters, because they aren’t flat either; Artur, de Crinis and Christel are super interesting, all different levels between quiet, only semi-aware compliance and full-on, not-so-blind fanaticism. Gawd, those shitheads, but they’re fascinating to watch

- all them relationships – Margot-Ferdinand, Otto-Martin, Otto-Anni, Artur-Anni, Margot-Doc Jung, Ferdinand-Doc Jung, Anni-de Crinis, Bessau-Artur, Martin-Christel, Otto-Christel, Anni-Martin… there are so many interplays, so many dynamics that influence each other! SO many layers!

- the acting is better, I think; the characters altogether feel less wooden, much more human than the first time around – perhaps because it’s not 19th century manners anymore now, I dunno; I’m getting really emotional over shit, and I love it

- incorporation of the political and social situation into the hospital setting – much more than in the first season, the state ideology influences the way the doctors can do their work, and many of them do their best to still hold onto their duty when everything around them falls apart, which is beautiful

- power struggles between the characters in charge and ideological / political nuances are more subtle; nothing is black and white

- but there’s nothing subtle about the presentation of Nazi crimes and how many people actually just went along willingly – that cold bluntness is just what that subject needs

- interactions with patients are better this time; they’re more now than passive, pitiable creatures who quietly die their way, they’re characters with their own minds and drives (Lohmann, Magda Goebbels, Hans von Dohnanyi, even Emil)

- the music is even better than the first time around, I love it – so gentle most of the time, but it can also really help to build the tension

- we get a very sweet, functioning queer romance between characters who consist of more than “well, they’re gay and it troubles them”, and they both live – THANK YOU for learning your lesson; there was no good reason to have the gay character die, so Otto and Martin get a happy end. Was that so difficult?

What I hate:

- Yrsa von Leistner is so effing random. Who the hell wrote this? If you can’t incorporate a character properly, why bother including them in the first place?

- the passivity and anonymity of the disabled children – why didn’t Artur or Anni ever get to perceive one of them as a person? That girl Traudel for example, Anni could have talked to her

- there’s a slight tendency to “I’ll just tell the character next to me” exposition – Artur when he and Anni wake up together that one morning (why wouldn’t Anni know yet what he’s working on? That long-winded explaining sentence just came off as awkward), Peter Sauerbruch to Margot about the Dohnanyis and Bonhoeffers

_________________________________

What I like about Charité, season 3:

- I’m all pro ProPro! Honestly, that man is a treat, both how the character is written and how the actor carries the situations and interactions he’s in. He’s arrogant and narcissistic, but he’s also principled, insightful and caring, unpolitical in a smart way and honest in a quiet way, and he gets how people are, and his mentorship of Ella, how he supports and encourages her and also bluntly gives her the dressing-down she needs, is a thing of beauty. And that she has to earn his attention first

- I have a personal soft spot for the scene where ProPro is doing his sports and going jogging while talking with Ella, and then just has her run along. That man’s hilarious, I love him

- Ella’s spirited, and while I don’t love the protagonists of this season as much as those of the second, she’s still great in her own right – the dedication to her research, the strength with which she handles the shit that’s thrown at her

- everyone’s so snarky!

- the wider focus on medical history and research; we see a lot past surgery now

- everyone’s taking shit in stride – staff is running off to the West? Ok; rest gets double shifts. We don’t have a senior doctor on the ward this morning anymore? We do shit ourselves. An illness we’re not prepared to treat anymore because, actually, there should be vaccination enough? We’ll make do. I love that spirit

- positive disabled representation! Rapoport’s daughter actually interacts with people, is presented as a person, has dreams and strengths and can handle her issues – yes, please!

- we get an intersex character, not for long and the story isn’t treated with the care and attention it should have, but props for the effort, I guess

- the setting allows for Ella to focus fully on her work and passion, not really giving much on romance and marriage without that seeming out of place – Ida’s conversations most often revolved around a man, Anni was considered a Nazi role model for being married and a mother, but Ella, while the relationship with Kurt is an option, never prioritizes this and never needs it

- personally, I’m smelling threesome subtext between Ella, Kurt and Alex Nowack – that may just be me, but I like it

- how everyone handles situations, how the changes happening in the country are incorporated into the world the characters live in, how they are able to cope with stuff and make decisions, in the end even without shifting blame

- even more so than in season 2, I really like how human the patients and their relatives are, that interacting with them in the right way is made an important part of the doctors’ work, even when some of the patients are asses

What I hate:

- people are mumbling – it’s not dialects, it’s not accents; they’re mumbling. They never were in the first two seasons

- the cancer stories were really no favorite of mine; what’s with the teary melodrama and the sudden gory shock value? Come on, Charité, you can do better. Presenting the human side of everything has always been the strength of this series, so why going so overboard now?

- I dunno, the crime cases ProPro investigates don’t seem to be incorporated that well? I suppose they’re there to establish his main field of pathology, but they spend a lot of time on that “Biter” case, and I’m not sure why

- would have been nice if Inge Rapoport had gotten to interact a bit with important characters other than her husband, Arianna and Kraatz – she’s a lovable, strong female character; why keep her so one-sided?

- what’s with the black’n’white painting? You showed us how conflicted and nuanced people under the Nazi regime could be; why now the clear line between “those people are good” and “that one sold his soul to the Party”?

- you show us an intersex person, introduce her as a character, make us sympathize, show us her hindrances and possibilities – and then she’s just gone? What about her treatment? Positive development? Making Kraatz’ interactions with her a counterpoint to his interactions with Doc Rapoport? What WAS that?

[pascalpanic]

Benny’s Girl (Prequel to Before The Next Teardrop Falls)

Inspo: Jessie’s Girl by Rick Springfield

Pairings: Benny Miller x f!Reader, later Frankie Morales x f!Reader (in Before The Next Teardrop Falls)

Summary: Benny’s new girlfriend is everything Catfish wants and more. Too bad it’s his best friend’s girl.

W/C: <4k

Warnings: language, sexual content, pining ohhh my word pining. 

A/N: HI FRIENDS <3 I absolutely loved Before The Next Teardrop Falls and I LOVE writing pining, especially with my Frankie baby, so I decided to make a prequel to it! This fic is based on Jessie’s Girl by Rick Springfield, which I absolutely ADORE. you can read this as a stand alone or you can read it as a prequel, I think either one works well!!

Sometimes, a spark seems to appear where one never existed. It’s common enough; it’s the reason most relationships fizzle out before they can become something explosive and fiery. One thinks that the dynamite is going to explode and take off in a bright shower of colors, when in reality the lighter never truly lit the wick.

That’s what happened between you and Benny Miller. You’d loved the guy, really, but not in the way you thought. You still do. It’s just that the both of you were lonely people seeking something more than your past had given you. The two of you were hopeless romantics. Maybe that’s what started the relationship.

You’d met in a way typical for the younger Miller brother. You’d been at a bar with some friends who were desperate to get you laid. The same could be said for Benny, who was there not with his brothers-in-arms but the man he’d defeated in the ring that night. Nick and Benny were good enough friends, close enough that losing to the other was rarely a sore spot. 

He’d spotted you across the bar, thought your laughing face was beautiful and your smile as you locked him was magnetic, drawing him to you before he could stop himself. Natural attraction. You introduced yourself. He told you his name was Benny. You asked why his hands were taped, he explained that he was a professional fighter, you’d made some snarky joke and you ended up talking for the rest of the night. One of your friends left with Nick. You and Benny stayed until the bartender shouted that it was the last call. You wrote your number on his taped palm and he saved it. 

You went on two bar dates before he decided he needed to introduce you to his best friends. They were like brothers to him, they knew everything about him and he knew them inside and out. You went to the same bar as you’d met at, and you met the men he’d served with in his Special Ops days.

Santiago, known as Pope for some godforsaken reason, was a charmer. He’d kissed your hand after shaking it, complimenting you and making small talk, finding connections and building on them. You’d laughed at the man’s joking advances, and flirted right back. Benny squirmed lightly, but you kissed his cheek and assured him you were just playing along.

William, Will, Ironhead, was Benny’s older brother. He’d given you a warm clap on the back and shook your hand, telling you that you were brave for putting up with the rascally guy. You had to admit, it was fitting. It was clear that they’re brothers: they had the same furrow to their brow, their blue eyes widened in reaction to anything, they had a similar habit of tipping their head back to laugh when something was especially funny. 

Frankie Morales, Catfish, was the last one you met and most definitely your favorite. He was quieter than the other guys, sat back while the other men made the noise. He was the punching bag, taking the brunt of the hyperbolized jokes- how Catfish hadn’t slept with a woman in 10 years, how he was the loud one of the group, how he was the one you had to look out for when he was drunk. You knew none of them could be true. He had a sweet smile and gave you a nod when you introduced yourself. He and Pope had some kind of banter between the two of them, albeit a banter you couldn’t understand as someone who didn’t speak Spanish. 

Throughout the night, you found yourself more drawn to Frankie. He had a beautiful laugh, would pull his ball cap down a little lower when someone made a joke about him. He was the one who’d expose a lie Benny or Santiago took. He nursed one beer while the other men got rowdy, and you’d done the same. It seemed that the two of you found kindred spirits in each other over the course of the night, while Benny and Will and Santi smacked each other around and took an obnoxious amount of trips to the bathroom.

When it was time to head out, you’d hugged each of the men goodbye. It was already clear that you fit in just like one of them, even if you didn’t have the past experience that bonded the men. You hugged Frankie last. He was the best hugger; he wasn’t ridiculously ripped like Benny, firm and awkward like Will, or flirtatious like Santiago. He was strong but soft. The man was definitely a hugger, you could tell, and it was comforting for the brief moment or two you were in his arms. 

Frankie put his cap on your head teasingly, covering your eyes, then stole it back and gave you a pat on the back. “Ben’s a wild one. Good luck with him,” he teased and walked off. You had to admit, his ass had a nice curve to it as he walked off to his beat-up truck. “Call me if he does anything stupid and I’ll beat his ass for you,” he called over his shoulder, prompting Benny to flip him off and put an arm around you. He simply laughed and got in his car.

-

Frankie became your favorite of the group. The two of you are the ones teasing each other exclusively and sitting quietly while the other men get crazy. Frankie tries sips of the cocktails you order, excitedly making grabby hands when the bartender sets it down. He always lets you steal some of the food he orders when you’re at the bar longer than normal. He shares your affinity for classic rock and when the bar blasts AC/DC, it’s Frankie who screams the lyrics to Thunderstruck with you while the others cover their ears. Santiago joins in sometimes too, but the country-loving Miller brothers never quite know all of the words like Catfish does. 

At some point in the few month relationship, you earn your nickname of Queenie. It’s from teasing Santiago, and the one who bestows the title upon you is Will, the most stoic of the group. It’s an honor, you tell them all, laughing. You call the shots, and everyone follows. Even though Benny is your lover, Frankie is your second-in-command.

When Frankie does allow himself to get drunk, he’s the most fun of the group. He’s extra lovey, telling the men how much he appreciates them. He tells stories the other men won’t about their Special Ops days, about the stupid things Will did when they were abroad. He’s shamelessly goofy and funny and falls all over the men. You even convince him to do karaoke with you once.

Benny is an overgrown class clown, but he won’t do karaoke, no matter how hard you begged him, called him baby and pressed soft kisses to his face. He wouldn’t budge. Tonight was a rare night that Frankie drank more than one round. “I’ll do it!” He shouts excitedly, eyes lighting up. “Ooh, c’mon, it’ll be fun. We’ll be so good at it.”

You, unfortunately, were not good at it, but you had the time of your life with Frankie. On that barely-raised platform, the two of you sang Don’t Go Breakin’ My Heart, completely out of tune and out of sync. You were giggling the whole time, especially at Frankie’s falsetto on the little “woo-hoo”s. 

The two of you tumbled back to the table after, you giggling and falling into Benny’s arms. “Did you like it?” You cooed, sitting on his lap.

Benny laughed genuinely, pressing a kiss to your face. “Sure did. That was fantastic. Maybe you’ll have to sing just for me sometime, huh?” He teases.

Frankie sits alone on his barstool at the end and downs the rest of his beer. He flashes you a quick smile when your eyes meet his and he retires early for the night.

-

You and Benny had sex a couple of times. He was good at it, good enough. You enjoyed the way his lips moulded to yours, the way his thrusts were quick and fast and properly angled. From a technical standpoint, he should’ve been perfect. It was all you wanted, but there was no real connection behind it. The moans that trailed from your lips were small and soft, and the louder ones were never genuine. He always made you orgasm, at least, but it was slow and dull, the kind you’d wring from yourself with just two fingers.

The two of you had fun together. You went to the county fair, you got boisterous and drunk at bars, you did everything two twentysomethings are expected to do in a relationship. After every date, you had a small sad smile on your face as you got in your bed and distracted yourself with something on your phone. Something about it wasn’t right: you didn’t connect soulfully, in some mystical and spiritual way where one can read the other’s mind, in the way that movies and books and legendary romances felt some kind of supernatural force that pulled the strings and led them closer. It wasn’t what you needed, but it was what you wanted, and so you hung on a little longer.

Benny felt the same, but he was too afraid to disrupt the balance. He’d rather be mediocrely happy than alone again. He liked having a girl to squeeze water into his mouth and wipe his sweat after a fight, someone to slide his dick into while her lips met his skin. He didn’t want to lose that, even if he was slowly realizing that he just wanted a friendship with you.

You hung out with him and the other men more. You realized that he wasn’t your boyfriend around them, more of a sibling, teasing and nudging. There was no affection, no romance, just the playful aspect of him. That was fine, you told yourself, until you realized that it wasn’t, it couldn’t be.

-

By principle, Frankie is not and refuses to be a jealous man. That changed when you came into the picture. 

Something about you is absolutely magnetic to him, more than the way Benny was drawn to you across the bar. Sure, he’s been attracted to many girls, but he wants you. He yearns for you. He makes a joke at the table and it doesn’t make anyone but you laugh, but he doesn’t give a shit that Benny and Will and Santiago don’t find it funny, because he gets to watch the way your eyes glimmer and your mouth falls open and your chest heaves with the beautiful ring of your laughter.  

He loves that you hug goodbye, because he gets to pretend for a moment that you’re his and he is yours, that he can press his lips to your soft skin and call you his girl. But you’re Benny’s girl, and he’s okay to live like that. He’d rather have you as a friend than not have you at all. Even if he dreams about you at night, even if you live in his head on repeat, saying his name. Frankie, baby, I want you, I want you…

One night, in his sleep, the sound of those words echoed through his head. He’s never heard you say them, but his unconscious brain assembled them like a beautifully haunting jigsaw puzzle that made all of his blood run south. 

Dream-you is standing in the doorway to his bedroom, wearing just his t-shirt. Dream-you smirks, walks closer, climbs over Frankie and presses her lips to his and her tongue delves into his mouth. She lies down onto him and grinds her hips to his and laughs and laughs and he presses his face into the curve of her- your- neck, smelling your perfume and grinding his hips back against dream-you’s. “All I want is you, Frankie,” dream-you mumbles and bites his lower lip. He shivers and dream-you coos his name, lines herself over his aching member and just before she slides down, he wakes up to a dark and lonely bedroom with a half-hard dick. 

You and Benny joined the gang the next night out. He couldn’t meet your eyes. He listened as you fussed over Benny, heard you call him baby and steal his beer with a giggle. 

“What the fuck has gotten into you, Fish?” Santiago asked when you’re in the bathroom. 

Frankie shook his head. He pulled his cap lower and finished his beer, then poured another from the pitcher on the bar. “Slept like shit last night.”

-

You’ve decided that it needs to end, so you asked Benny to meet him at your favorite bar. He agreed, and wanted to invite the boys, until you asked that it be just the two of you. It hurts that he has a glimmer of hope that you’re about to end things. If you don’t, he will.

You walk in with an apologetic smile, sitting across from him. “Hey, how was your day?” You ask in a soft voice. You’re unconsciously trying to prepare yourself to let him down gently.

He shrugs a little. “Uneventful. Yours?”

“The same. Listen, Benny…” you start and trail off, looking away.

He takes one of your hands and looks at you, his eyes understanding. “Hey. I think I know what this is about.” He reads the sadness in your eyes like a book. “We need to be done. I get that. I agree.”

Your face finds a soft smile as you look back at him. “Really?” You ask.

“Yeah. I have something to ask.”

“Shoot.”

He takes your hand and presses it to his lips softly. “Will you no longer be my girlfriend and just go back to being my friend?” He asks. 

You nod excitedly, laughing. “Oh my god, yes, Benny. I’d love to no longer be your girlfriend.”

The both of you laugh at the irony in your words, and he sets your hand down. “Thank God.”

Later that night, Will, Frankie, and Santiago find their way to the bar. Of course they do. They come over to your booth, sliding in and pretending to love up on Benny. “Oh, are we interrupting a date?” Santiago asks with a fake pout.

You chuckle and look at Benny. He gives you a small smile and a nod. “Actually, no. No more dates between Benny and I. We’re over,” you say and breathe a sigh of relief.

Frankie’s blood runs cold. He must be dreaming for him to hear this. It’s only ever in those dreams that he hears the words he wants the most fall from your lips, words like these. Words that indicate you’re no longer Benny’s girl. “You two seemed so happy,” he murmurs in confusion.

Benny senses it all clicking. Frankie has liked you all along. He’s smarter than the gang gives him credit for. He can read his friends easily, and Frankie is the easiest of all of them to understand, with those big brown eyes that give everything away. It’s gotta be, he thinks. You probably don’t like him back, as anything more than a friend, but Frankie is in deep shit now for you. He nods, looking at Fish and shrugging. “We just didn’t work. We’re still gonna be friends though. She’s one of us, isn’t she?”

The men all cheer in agreement and it calms your frantically beating heart. The worst is over now. And goddamn, does Frankie look cuddly tonight in that flannel, you think to yourself. You slouch down against him two beers later and discover that yes, he’s as comfortable as he looks.

-

You’ve been single for a year now. Benny still texts with you daily, as do the other men. He sends you shitty Facebook memes that seem more like a dad would post. You realize that it’s for the best that you and Benny are over, with a chuckle. You can be much more honest.

It pains you to realize it, but you’re crushing hard on your ex’s best friend. Frankie Morales is everything you need and want and desire. His big arms wrap you in a hug every time the two of you say goodbye, and every time it feels like it lasts a millisecond longer. That neither of you want to let go.

Frankie feels the same, even though you don’t know it. He has that haunting dream once a week, the one where you kiss his neck and call him baby and it makes him yearn every night at 2:00 in the morning, staring at your Instagram page and thinking he should text you and see if you’re up. Not as a hookup, not anything like that. He just wants to talk to you.

You tease Frankie about his chronic insomnia. How he sends you random texts late at night. “Have you considered melatonin?” You ask.

“I have weird dreams. It’s not the falling asleep, it’s the waking up,” he admits, looking in the opposite direction of your face. 

Some days, Frankie thinks you feel the same. He notices the way your eyes linger on his face, the way you always sit next to him in a booth. The way your phone’s lockscreen is a photo of the two of you being stupid at some function. You’ve become best friends, Frankie has to admit, but sometimes he thinks there could be more. But then you say something offhanded and he has to throw the notion away. 

One night at the bar, when it’s just the men and you’re nowhere to be seen, Frankie takes Benny and guides him into the bathroom. His blonde brow furrows in confusion as he looks at Frankie. “Yeah, Fish?”

His hands rub together nervously and he looks down, before fidgeting with his cap and looking Benny in the eye. “You and Queenie… that’s all in the past, right? There’s nothing between the two of you?”

A smirk finds his face. “I knew it, Frank! I knew it from the night her and I broke up.”

He frowns. “Is that why?” He asks hurriedly. “Oh shit, I didn’t break the two of you up, did I? Jesus, Ben, I’m-”

“No, you dumb fuck,” he laughs and shakes his head. “I just saw the way you looked at her after it happened. Crazy in love. You totally are.

Frankie’s face turns red and he takes off his hat to adjust his hair. “Do you think she might like me too?” he asks, quietly. As if you could hear him somehow.

Benny nods, excitement in those bright blue eyes. “Hell yeah she does, Fish! You’re her fucking phone lockscreen. Girls don’t just do that.”

“I don’t know, man, we’re best friends. That might not mean shit.”

The blonde puts his hands on the brunette’s shoulders. “Listen to me, Frankie. I’ve known you’re into her for like a year now. I know she likes you too. It’s time, you gotta ask her out.”

“Really?” He asks, brown eyes widening. “I don’t think so. That could fuck everything up,” he says, the anxiety in his voice.

“Trust me,” Benny nods. “It won’t.” 

Frankie’s grinning ear to ear. “Alright. Tomorrow night, I’ll ask her to meet us here, but it’ll be just me. I’ll ask her out, how does that sound?”

“That sounds fuckin’ amazing, man!” Benny exclaims. “I’m happy for you. She’s a great girl and you’re a great guy.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” he asks, wringing his cap in his hands. 

He nods. “Go for it, Fish.”

- Frankie never gets the chance.

The next night you float into the bar, absolutely on cloud nine. You’re grinning ear to ear and it only widens when you see Frankie, rushing over and hopping on the stool. “Hey Fish,” you coo and kiss his cheek.

Frankie’s stunned. “Hey. How was your day?” He asks hesitantly, looking at how flustered and happy you look.

“So good,” you laugh. “I actually got asked out. Like, on a date. This really sweet guy, friend of a coworker. His name is Sam.”

Frankie’s sure you can hear the crack that echoes inside his ribcage. His heart splits in two and to hide a quivering lip, he raises his glass to his lips and takes a swig of his beer.

You continue to talk about him, noticing his silence. “How was yours?” You ask, frowning a little at how tense he is. You rest a hand on his upper arm.

Frankie does his best not to flinch from your touch. “Not great,” he chuckles and clears his throat. “I kinda fucked something up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you pout and stroke his arm softly. “Can I help you with it? Do you need to talk about it?”

He shakes his head quickly, standing from his stool. “No, just a personal thing. Hey, I’m gonna run and piss, the other guys will be here soon. Order something, it’s on me.”

Frankie’s gone into the bathroom before you can even process it. You frown a little but the smile returns as you order the drink and think about Sam.

Frankie locks himself in a stall and texts the other men.

D-SQUAD 🚁

Frankie: mission aborted. You guys need to come to the bar now so I don’t look like a chump.

Benny: what happened?

Frankie: a guy asked her out today. she’s taken now I guess

He stares at his phone and sends one last text.

Frankie: and don’t you dare mention it to her. make her tell you first.

He slides his phone in his pocket and leans against the wall of the bathroom stall, letting out a deep sigh. This is all shit. He’s a coward, and he should’ve done something sooner. 

He finally returns and sits next to you on a barstool. There’s a smile on his face that you’d notice was plastered if your mind wasn’t so wrapped up in your day. “So. Tell me about him. I’m happy for you, you know that?”

-

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel​ @sanchosammy​

[ominousunflower]

Day 10 - Charm Bracelets

For @adrinetteapril 😊

Summary: No one quite understands the color scheme for Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s wedding.

Rating: T (brief implied adult content) Word count: 1591 

[Read on AO3]

*** *** *** *** *** ***

“Why are you being so secretive?” Alya asks, wiggling as Marinette tries to pin the fabric of her gown. When Marinette glares up at her, she stops moving, though she still adds, “Are you ever going to tell us? Or is this going to be one of those unsolved mysteries that they put in your biography? No one quite knows why Marinette Dupain-Cheng chose such a bizarre color scheme for her wedding, but historians have speculated that—”

“Alya,” Marinette says, rolling her eyes. “It’s not a secret. If you figured it out, I’d tell you that you were right.”

“Then why don’t you just tell me?”

“Because it’s personal,” Marinette says. “I don’t know. It feels wrong to tell people.”

For weeks, Alya has begged Marinette to explain the color scheme for her wedding—and of course, the moment she set foot in the fitting room, the litany of questions began again. At this point, Marinette’s really just keeping it a secret as a matter of principle.

“I swear,” Alya says, “you always said that Nino and I were bad back in collège, but you and Adrien are even worse. Sometimes I think the two of you share one brain.”

“That,” Marinette says, pinching a piece of fabric, “would be a nightmare. Adrien only says half the puns he thinks. I don’t think I could handle double the wordplay.”

Alya cackles. “Yeah, okay. Fair.” She hums to herself. “Okay, so, I get the pink and blue. Those are your and Adrien’s favorite colors. Right?”

Marinette shakes her head, then removes a pin and holds it with her teeth. As she gathers the fabric to re-pin it, she mumbles, “That’s not why.”

“And why yellow?” Alya says. “You hate yellow. It’s Chloé’s color.”

Sighing, Marinette plucks the pin from her mouth. “I don’t hate any colors,” she says, slipping the pin throuh the fabric. “They all play an important role in design.”

“Is it because Adrien’s blond?”

Marinette snorts. Alya has to know that they wouldn’t have based their color scheme on Adrien’s hair, of all things. But she does wonder how Alya’s reporter eyes haven’t latched onto the only other yellow thing in the room right now: the golden beads sitting against Marinette’s wrist.

“Your eyes are blue,” Alya says. “And Adrien’s eyes are green! I’m onto something, aren’t I?”

“You caught us,” Marinette says drily. “And the pink is for my hair, obviously.”

Alya groans and stomps a heeled foot against the platform she’s standing on. “Damn it!” she says, and Marinette can see her frustrated face reflected in one of the fitting room’s mirrors. “I thought I had it.”

Laughing, Marinette stands and circles Alya, observing her dress. It’s one that Marinette designed herself, of course—she wasn’t going to let her best friend wear something by some other designer. The honey yellow fabric contrasts well with Alya’s skin and hair, much better than any of the other wedding colors, and the snug bodice and slightly-flared column skirt emphasize her curves perfectly.

“I wouldn’t look as good in the other colors,” Alya notes, regarding herself in the mirror. It’s almost like she read Marinette’s mind. “Is that why you chose yellow?”

“That’s right,” Marinette says. “You figured it out.”

“Really?”

“No.”

~~~

“Dude,” Nino says, as Adrien shows him pictures of the prototype floral arrangements that Rose has created for the wedding. He’s slouched next to Adrien at a table in their favorite coffee shop, his cup drained long ago. “I thought Marinette was a designer.”

Adrien frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know much about design,” Nino says. “Like, I’ve never put much thought into what I’m wearing, or whether the colors go together. But…pink, blue, yellow, and green? You’re just two colors shy of a rainbow, man.”

“Technically three,” Adrien says. “Red, orange, and violet. And pink isn’t officially a color of the rainbow.” He swipes to the next photo. “Okay, so, Marinette and I are stuck on this one. I think it’s the best, because it features roses, which are her favorite flower. But she doesn’t like it, because she says that the roses are overpowering the arrangement.”

“Colors are overpowering the arrangement,” Nino says. “You realize that the four of us are all wearing different colors for this wedding?”

“It’s just accent colors,” Adrien says, waving Nino off. “It’s not like I’m wearing a bright green suit. Marinette would kill me if I did that.”

Nino shrugs. “I don’t care one way or the other, but Alya’s going crazy. She hates that she can’t figure out the color scheme after knowing you two for a decade.”

“Oh,” Adrien says. “Right. I forgot about that.”

He smiles fondly at the bracelet wrapped around his wrist, the same one he’s worn ever since Marinette gave it to him back in collège. Back before they were dating, back before he figured out that she was his superhero partner and the love of his life. He should have realized sooner why he cherished Marinette’s lucky charm so much.

“Why are you smiling at the table?” Nino asks.

“No reason,” Adrien says. “Now, help me come up with an argument to convince Marinette that we should go with the arrangement I want.”

“An argument to convince Marinette that your design ideas are better than hers?”

Adrien pouts. “She cares what I think. We make all our major decisions together, Nino.”

And Nino doesn’t realize just how true that is. Whether it’s marriage or saving the city of Paris from evil, Adrien and Marinette are partners through and through.

“I don’t think flower arrangements count as major decisions,” Nino says.

Rolling his eyes, Adrien goes back to scrolling through flower pictures.

~~~

“Maybe you should take pity on her,” Adrien says one night, as Marinette sits next to him on the couch with a mug of tea in her hands.

“She deserves it,” Marinette says. She snuggles into Adrien’s side, her cheek pressed against the soft fabric of his hoodie. “She spent practically every day of lycée begging me for details about our love life. We’re allowed to keep a few things to ourselves.”

“You know, buginette,” Adrien murmurs, “I didn’t take you for the vengeful type.” He presses a kiss to her hair. “Aren’t you supposed to be the responsible one?”

“I don’t know,” Marinette says. “It’s exhausting being responsible all the time. And I really enjoy trolling Alya. I think you can be the responsible one, at least until the wedding.”

“I’ll make sure I add that to my vows,” Adrien says. “And I, Adrien Agreste, hereby revoke my role as the responsible one, returning it to my lovely soon-to-be wife…”

Marinette giggles. “Anything else you want to revoke, while you’re at it? Your dishwashing duties, maybe?”

Laughing, Adrien tightens his hold on Marinette. Sensing what he wants, Marinette sets her mug on the coffee table and allows him to scoop her onto his lap.

“Actually,” Adrien says, “there is one other thing, yes.”

Marinette tilts her head back to glance up at him. “And what’s that?”

“My name.”

“Right,” Marinette breathes. “Your name.”

She still can’t quite wrap her head around the fact that Adrien’s going to be taking her last name once they’re married. Of course, all those days she’d doodled Marinette Agreste in her collège notebooks, she’d never actually planned to take his name. She’s proud of her family, her name, of the accomplishments she’s earned under those two words and a hyphen.  

But it never occurred to her that one day Adrien Agreste might be signing papers as Adrien Dupain-Cheng.

“You don’t mind?” Adrien asks, his green eyes scrunching in concern. “If it makes you uncomfortable—”

“I love it,” Marinette says. She leans forward to kiss his cheek. “And I love you. I’m more than happy to give you my name.”

“My name, my clothes, my lucky charm bracelet…” Adrien leans forward, his lips brushing featherlight against Marinette’s. “Why, my lady. Pretty soon I’ll be all yours.”

Marinette reaches down to take Adrien’s wrist, her fingers running across the beads of his charm bracelet. “Aren’t you already?”

Adrien’s hand finds Marinette’s bracelet as well, rubbing one of the beads between his thumb and index finger. “I’ve always been yours,” he says, his green eyes shining. “You know that.”

Somehow, even after dating Adrien for so many years—after being engaged to him for almost two—Marinette still finds herself overcome when he turns that soft gaze on her. And so, speechless, she leans forward and captures his lips in a kiss.

Hands wander, clothes disappear, and they quickly relocate to the bedroom. And as they move together, kissing and lost in each other’s bodies, Adrien’s hand stays intertwined with Marinette’s, the beads of their bracelets matched together like their hearts.

~~~

Weeks later, when Marinette and Adrien join each other at the end of the aisle—and Adrien does, in fact, revoke his role as the responsible one during his vows—only a few keen eyes catch the gold and blue bracelet hidden under the flowing sleeves of Marinette’s dress, or the pink and green beads peeking out from underneath the cuffs of Adrien’s dress shirt. Even fewer eyes notice that the colors of the bracelets are the accent colors of the wedding.

“Bracelets,” Alya mutters, during the exchange of rings. “It’s the bracelets.”

Adrien takes Marinette’s hand, his fingers slipping under her sleeve to feel the bracelet around her wrist. “You know,” he murmurs, leaning forward, “you’re my real lucky charm, princesse.”

“Kiss me already, you sap,” Marinette says.

Smiling, Adrien does just that.

[considerthelilies]

A Quarter Century

Twenty-five years have passed since the early, humid August morning when I graced Bryn Mawr hospital with what they deemed as the loudest lungs in the unit. Unfortunately for my parents, it would be years until I learned how to channel the volume of my voice. Between 12 months of ear-ringing colic, only soothed by my dad’s slow laps around the dining room, to elementary report cards stamped with ‘excessive talking’ to the countless conversations with my grandmother that ended with ‘You just have all the answers, don’t you?’ — I always had something to say. 

Luckily, once I learned how to put words together, I could liberate my voice in a new, quieter way. And one that kept me occupied, away from disputes (that often, turned physical) with my older brother and sister. I wrote stories as a child, personal narratives as a teen and blogs that went viral online as a college student. Writing has never fully left me, but in my years since graduating, my pursuit of creative writing has gone on a brief hiatus as I directed my attention to working full time — or at least, that’s my excuse. While that paid off this year when I finally received a new, professional title with ‘-writer’ in it, I’ve realized that the only way I can improve my craft is to feed the creative writer in me first before I can hone in on any professional medium. So here we are once again, as I make my way back to the child who was happy to just have a pencil in hand and a blank, lined page in front of her. 

In 25 years, I’ve learned grappling with life’s unexpected chaos, fulfillment and all the moments that make up in between leaves us (inevitably) on a continuous quest to seek answers. Currently, I am just trying to stay content in a time transforming pandemic, while reminding myself to marvel at the world’s simplicities as I begin my era of my mid-to-late twenties. We seem to return to the same answers again and again, where I find most on this blank page. 

So the guiding principles of ‘life’ I know most, the things I’ve learned along the way in 25 years today, are simply as written:

Find the humor. And if you’re not like me, who deeply appreciates the art of a borderline insensitive and brash joke, try to at least find an ironic smile when things go left. What else is there when life strikes you with a sad, open palm? Laugh. Make fun of each other. Coat the sadness in humor, for sometimes, it feels like it could drown you if you don’t. On my worst days, I’ve looked everything that’s fucked up in the face, and I’ve matched it with a mocking laugh. 

Have a voice and use it. Professionally, especially when you’re young and learning, it’s imperative to know your strengths and be reminded of your intelligence. Work hard and keep your head down, but don’t beat yourself up over learning the process. Allow redirection to take place when needed, and know when you’re young is your time to be tenacious. Don’t be afraid to speak up, and definitely don’t be afraid to leave situations to find your voice. Everybody is due for a mistake — but the largest mistakes are letting others dictate where your talents or capabilities can take you.

Embrace contentment. The greatest of life’s pursuits are, in my opinion, found in the simple repetitive day to day actions. Your life is not measured by how many countries you visit, the highest degree you earn or how much money you spend. True joy is found in the intention to live every day, whether it be the first stir of your morning coffee, breathing in fresh air of fall or climbing into your own bed after a long day. It doesn’t always have to be, go go go. Stay, be settled, and know you don’t always have to be stimulated to be joyful. Just be content. 

Don’t avoid what makes you feel good. This is something I’ve recently found so important, and something that rings very true for us who struggle with depression or symptoms of anxiety. It can be so easy to slip away into the monotony of each day, and just exist — especially in this pandemic. Sometimes doing what makes us feel good can take discipline, even when we know it’s going to make us feel better in the end. Exercise, eating better, drinking a lot of water, turning the TV off or putting the phone down at 9pm. Forcing myself to pick up the pen. I avoid it because it brings me pleasure, but pleasure that takes work. Don’t avoid the things that lift you up. Even when it feels hard to. 

So, it’s not much, but it’s what comes to mind as most important when navigating through these ever changing years. Unexpected news can alter your peace and security in a second, like eleven months ago when I received the call from my brother that my mom’s breast cancer was back, and it was bad. It was probably the worst phone call I’ve received, and I’ve picked up some tough ones, but I’m here, and we’re here, and we’re laughing and we’re staying content. Because it’s all I know how to, and can do when life hands me a big, fat, sour old lemon. And it’s all I will continue to do, with my pen in hand, trying to source answers through these pages. For whatever it’s worth, I hope it helps, and I love you for reading. 

XXX

Elizabeth Anne

[thecandywrites]

Jewel Of The North Part 3

Aaah, we’re getting closer. Also this is fantasy, let’s pretend pallas cats are thunder cats and that they can be tamed. Also Scottish wild cats are a thing too. They can be thunder cats too. 

Again major thanks to @monstersandmaw​ for sharing ice orcs with me. 

Jewel of the North 

Part 3

You found yourself getting up at 4:30 and quickly got a shower and got ready as the sun was coming up and by 5 am, you were itching to leave and decided to just go and practically speed walked to Noah’s house in the misty dawn, only to find Sakura and Noah sitting on the front porch, wrapped in blankets as Noah looked particularly tired as he downed his coffee as two snow dogs laid on the porch, trying to get some sleep before they heard your approach and sat up and stared at you before they got up and slowly wagged their tails but didn’t make a sound. 

“Paradise!” Sakura squealed when she saw you as she instantly got up and ran to you as you laughed at the name as you caught her and picked her up and kissed her cheek as the dogs came running over to you too. 

“Well good morning to you too Munchkin!” You greeted happily before you carried her back to the house and cooed to the dogs who seemed happy and excited to see you too and sniffed at you eagerly and barked and ‘greeted’ you too in their own way. 

“What are you doing up so early?” You asked her. 

“I didn’t want to miss you coming!” She insisted. 

“Aw,” you cooed. “How long have you been up?” You asked her. 

“Since 4:30- she woke up bright eyed and bushy tailed.” Noah answered as he slowly got up out of his deck chair and grabbed his daughter’s blanket she left behind in her chair before he put it over her and you. 

“Oh that’s better, it’s chilly this morning.” You insisted as you curled into the warmth of the blanket as you followed him into the house, grateful he held the door open for you. Thankfully he had already made breakfast which you happily started eating with them as the dogs instantly put their heads in your lap, wanting pets, acting like they never got pets or any kind of attention ever. Typical. 

“So are you going to teach me how to be an heiress today?” Sakura asked eagerly and Noah nearly choked on his coffee. 

“Probably not because I wanted to talk to your dad about that first .” You put to her before you turned to Noah. 

“First I wanted to reassure you that whatever she tells me or whatever you tell me, I will keep in strict confidence and won’t be repeated to anyone unless I have your express and freely given consent to do so. Because honestly- the only people I would ever want to be telling anything to would be professionals, mostly very experienced lawyers and I will not do so unless I had your express permission to do it and I will not discuss anything of a private or sensitive nature unless it was in your presence as well. Second, I understand how I’m the outsider and honestly and realistically- you don’t know me from anyone and I completely understand if you’re uncomfortable with this and I’m not offended if you don’t want to involve me in anything sensitive, private or especially financial. If all you are comfortable with me doing is being here and watching her and being a babysitter, that’s fine with me, if you just want me to be a friend, I’ll just be a friend, if you want me to be an advisor, I’ll be an advisor. But only if you want me to be. You need to have your own boundaries for me and I’ll do my best to respect any and all boundaries given as long as those boundaries are clearly and expressly stated so there’s no confusion and no gray areas. I can not read your mind so if I cross a line, or if I have already crossed a line, please tell me as quickly as possible.” You insisted. 

“Oh, no you haven’t crossed any lines at all, you’re good.” Noah readily assured you. 

“Ok, good, I want us to stay on good terms and clear communication is the best way to achieve that.” You offered which earned a nod of agreement from Noah. 

“So moving forward- if you do end up wanting my advice, I can be as specific or as generic as you want me to be. But I will not give unwanted advice and I will not involve myself without your permission and I would want to make sure that my involvement is welcome by especially Neena’s parents and perhaps your own since it’s obvious they all still play an active role in her life because moving forward, if you’re going to continue to rely on them for support, it’s best to have everyone on the same page and even though you are her sole parent and guardian and the responsibility for her rests solely on your shoulders- I know I appreciated having more than my own eyes and mind on a problem- the whole- two heads are better than one principle, but at the same time we don’t want to involve anyone who doesn’t need to be involved because of the other principal of having too many cooks in the kitchen as we need to find a balance between the two.” You suggested. 

“I completely agree.” Noah nodded again in agreement with a fond smile. 

“Well, speaking from experience, I have had unwanted advice crammed down my throat more times than I can count and I hated it and I’m not going to do that to you guys. And if you do want my advice, please know that I will be honest and transparent about it and the only thing I want to gain from any of it- is the assurance and reassurance that you and Sakura are going to be ok and taken care of and if I can pass on the lessons I learned so that you don’t have to go through what I went through to learn them- I’ll be content.” You explained as Noah’s eyebrows knitted closer together for a moment at your choice of words. 

“Do you mind if I ask how you became an heiress?” Noah asked carefully. 

“I don’t mind at all, so what happened was I befriended about a dozen older couples when I went to massage school a decade ago and at the time they were all retirement age and they never had any kids, or the ones who did, their kids had passed before they did and they didn’t have any other natural heirs, no kids or grandkids or anything like that and they all practically adopted me because I took care of them the way I would take care of my own grandparents and I just tend to adopt grandparents in general and kids obviously.” You gestured to Sakura who was sitting next to you at the kitchen table. 

“Anyway, about two to three years before Andy died, most of them lost their partners and, again, none of them had kids to take care of them so I felt it was my responsibility as their friend to care for them because if I didn’t, no one else would and none of them were bad enough that they needed to go into a nursing home and I did all I could to keep them as independent as possible which is what they needed and what was best for them in those circumstances. So when Andy did die, the remaining ones were there for me to help me cope with his loss and how to protect myself and how to protect my kids and how to use what Andy left me in life insurance policies best and I took their advice and used it and benefited and then when they passed a few months later, and they all passed within the span of a week which was unreal - so it was just all one big funeral for me and I found out that all of them individually- left everything to me and none of them used the same lawyers or anything so there was no way for me or any of them to know that the others were doing the same thing since going into that ordeal I had only known that one of them were going to leave me anything and what they were leaving me was very modest in all respects. But within the span of another week after that in settling their final affiars which is when I found out I became inheriter to 15 different estates , it was really weird and I was investigated because the sheer coincidence of it seemed odd to everyone, most of all- me, and because there wasn’t any other parties coming forward trying to claim anything and because the only role I had in their passing was that I helped relieve pain and suffering and didn’t actually murder anyone, I got to keep it all and for a whole week after the deaths, I literally just kept going from each house and just cleaning out the fridges and freezers because I had already taken all their pets home with me, so now I have a freaking menagerie at home because I love and adore all of the pets and didn’t have the heart to take them to a shelter because most of them were old anyways and they should live out the rest of their lives in comfort and peace like their owners, and it’s obvious that your precious babies have picked up on that.” You explained as you turned your adoring attentions back to his dogs who were soaking up your attentions happily.  

“So what about the wolves and vultures?” Sakura asked. 

“Oh boy, well, that’s figurative, I’ve had to deal with figurative wolves and vultures in that people have tried to take advantage of me and think that because I was a woman who didn’t have any experience with managing estates and money and property that they could come in and take it from me the way a vulture will try to take a carcass from another or how they’ll prey on an injured animal and wait for it to die or how wolves will surround their target and overpower it, the same thing happened to me and it’s awful.” You answered. 

“How?” Sakura asked curiously. 

“Well, while the rest of my adopted grandparents were dying and I was inheriting all those estates, the company Andy had worked for- sued the manufacturer of the crystal grower that malfunctioned and killed him at work and because I was- and I quote- “the prettiest of the widows” his company paid me a ridiculous sum of money and other benefits to be the public face of the lawsuit even though there were five widows and widowers involved but it was my face that was crying in a courtroom that sold the story in the news and got the jury to sympathize and his company used my sob story, leaving out the fact that I was also an heiress for all these other estates- for their benefit and won the case in court- but because of my adopted grandparents who had amazing lawyers, who then became my lawyers, they made sure I got the lion’s share of the settlement because it was my face and my life that was put in the public eye for a hot minute and because of my own exposure, suddenly I had dozens of organizations and charities contact me too but because the settlement was so big, my biggest priority was making sure the other widows and widowers got a fair share and that they and their families were also taken care of because they didn’t have good lawyers like I did. So I used what little power and control I had in that situation to benefit them too because corportate greed is second to none.” You revealed. 

“Oh good grief.” Noah huffed. 

“Yeah, it wasn’t fun. The absolute worst part about it were just the figurative vultures and wolves. All these men came out of the woodwork after the court win because it was in the news- all of them thinking I was this ‘poor, inexperienced, stupid widow’ who practically won the lottery because the settlement was the same size as a small lottery and thought that I had gotten all of the settlement which wasn’t true or thought that I didn’t have any sense or propriety and thought that because I was young and inexperienced, they could take advantage of me which backfired on them spectacularly. Especially since I have clients on the local police force, fire department and other first responders who had been friends of mine before all this went down and who saw me through all of it and the moment any guy crossed that line of getting too close to me or especially my kids, who before any of this happened, I was already an overprotective Mama Bear anyway and through this whole ordeal, I just grew bigger claws and fangs and one hell of a bite and swing,” You gestured, making your hand clawed and swiping at the air which got Noah to grin appreciatively. 

“Anyway so if they got too close, they got the boot and a restraining order, I currently have over two dozen restraining orders against creepy vulture slash wolf tipes and I have gotten really good at spotting them from a mile away. I was already good at reading people and getting a sense of them because I’m an empath, it’s what I naturally do best, but now it’s basically a super power.” You chuckled before you continued to eat your breakfast. 

“And despite all that, you’re still... just a normal, down to earth mom.” Noah praised which made your smile bloom even brighter. 

“I try really hard not to let my past experiences change who I am too much because at the end of the day, what you just said is all I want to be. I used to be an easily trusting, very carefree, easy going and down to earth kind of person and I always reserved my judgement of people until I saw by their words and most importantly their actions- what kind of person they were and reacted accordingly I’ve always done my best to be a kind, generous and hospitable and caring person and I don’t want what has happened to me to change those parts of me that I like the most and that I’ve worked hard to cultivate despite how vicious and cold the rest of the world can be and just because I have suffered, doesn’t mean I should add to anyone else’s suffering and I don’t want greed or the love of money to corrupt me, I want to use it as the tool it is to build up instead of a precious finite resource that should be hoarded whenever encountered. A good person is a good person no matter how much money they have, and there’s a saying in the south about ‘acting too big for your britches’ that my parents and my inlaws are really good at calling me out on and at the time, I didn’t like it but after I thought about it, I realized they were right and I’m still humble enough to accept their council and we all need someone in our lives to bring us to our senses and remind us to keep it real.” You revealed as Noah smiled and nodded his approval to those sentiments. 

“Which is why I, for better or worse tried dating again, and why the few dates have been really casual. Two of them had no idea about my past with the inheritances or the court case or anything like that. All they knew about me was that I was a widow, a single mom of two, that I own my own massage business that I run out of my house and that’s it and that’s all they needed to know about me. I had two dates at a trampoline park that I take my kids to a lot and we met, sat in side by side massage chairs and chatted while our kids played. That’s literally all that happened and in talking to them, while they were nice and friendly, I just didn’t connect with them. And because of my past, my walls are already pretty high and thick and most guys just assume it’s because my late husband was abusive, which- he wasn’t, but they just assume I’m more trouble than I’m worth and leave me alone in peace which is all I can ask for from them.” You explained. 

“Although. There was a third guy that I’m pretty sure he found out about my financial past mid date because we were out to dinner, everything was going ok, the kids are getting along and him and I are having the ‘expectations’ talk about what we’re looking for a in a partner, what we’re not looking for, what our turn offs are and the more I talk I can see it in his eyes that he’s losing interest because he walked into the date thinking he can just move right on in, instant perfect family, his partner would have “a little hobby side business”,” You waived off dismissively, scrunching your nose as your tone grew sarcastically condescending which got Sakura to giggle and Noah to chuckle. “Which I get a lot, people who undervalue or underestimate it and it’s not my job to prove its validity, I let the work speak for itself, anyway- so he thought all he would have to do is go to work and provide and to hear that- that’s not exactly how things were going to work with me- he’s clearly not interested anymore and he withdraws which is fine because the more he talked, the more I didn’t like him either because if he can’t respect me and my profession, I don’t have to respect him in turn but I have manners so I stay pleasant, especially since kids are present and there’s never a reason to be rude or mean to a child. So he gets up to go to the bathroom, and he’s gone for like 30 minutes, like long enough that I start to worry he just dropped his kids off on me and ran and I’m talking to the kids trying to figure out if I need to be calling their mother to come pick them up or cramming them all into my car or what and then he comes back and it’s instantly a whole new version of him that I’m having dinner with- he comes swaggering back to the table with a bottle of the most expensive wine the Olive Gardens had and the difference in attitude, opinions and outlooks were night and day- like he had schizophrenia and I just had dinner with a different version of him and he’s all smiles and charm and talking about how all the ways he can support me in “my calling” and how ‘all he’s wanted is to be a stay at home dad and how “honorable” staying home and taking care of kids really is and taking extra care in raising and educating kids and taking care of animals is his life’s ambition’ when half an hour ago- he admitted that he never even once changed a poopy diaper and all domestic activities were what he got married for so he didn’t have to do them and that he never let his kids have indoor pets because they shed and make a mess and are more trouble than they're worth and at this point all of his kids are looking at him like he’s grown a second and third head and I put two and two together pretty quick that he got wind of my financials and he absolutely insisted he pay for everyone’s dinner when before we had agreed that we’d be paying separately and for the next week he was calling me at least three times a day trying to get another date which I always ignored his calls so he left the most ridiculous voicemails ‘how our kids really “clicked”,’ and ‘how beautiful I was’ and ‘what an amazing and accomplished woman I was’ and how he ‘needed me in his life’ and how ‘we need to hang out and go do stuff’ and even offered to take me and my family to Cedar Points for a whole weekend getaway and get a suite and so with some courage, I finally called him back and I just had to be very honest with him and tell him under no uncertain terms that none of those things were going to happen and to lose my number because I was not interested and I called him out on his behavior and point blank demanded why he had such a sudden change of heart and demanded to know why he was calling me so much and he tried to play it off but when I didn’t buy it and tried to tell him to go take a hike- he pushed back saying I owed him money for him buying me and my ‘ungrateful brats’ dinner that’s when I involved my friends with law enforcement because he got real nasty real quick and after that I took a break and that was a month and a half ago and I’ve just been doing my best to be patient and wait for the right guy with the right circumstances and the right personality and the right morals and values to come along and just...give me kindness, and sympathy, empathy and understanding and just..love me for me for me, with all my flaws and shortcomings without thinking that my bank account makes up for any of them or who won’t look at my bank account and think he’s expected to match it. Honestly I’m more scared that the right guy will take one look at my bank account and get scared off or think he’s not good enough because he’s humble or he came from a humble background like I did or think that all rich people are bad selfish people because that’s not true.” You confessed and realized that Noah wasn’t really talking but he was giving you the most interesting look. Like he was thinking very deeply about what you were saying before his phone started to ring. 

“Oh, sorry, you should get going to work, sorry if I kept you.” You apologized but he waived you off as he listened to who was on the other end of the phone and got up from the table. 

“Yeah, I’ll see you in a bit.” He bid them before he stopped and kissed Sakura goodbye before he, out of habit- kissed the crown of your head as he passed you before he had to pause after the fact and stood up straight as a board as Sakura giggled gleefully as your cheeks were bright kashmir sapphire blue along with your ears as you couldn’t help but giggle yourself because that was the most precious thing he could have done in that moment. 

“Uhh, sorry?” He apologized as his own cheeks were a deep midnight along with the tips of his ears. 

“Don’t apologize, it’s ok, I take it you used to do that a lot with Neena, old habits die hard, I don’t mind one bit, if anything I’m very flattered and honored, you’re good, we’re good.” You reassured him with a bright happy smile. 

“Thanks,” Noah ducked his head sheepishly before he continued on his way and ran his hand down his face. 

“Fuck.” He breathed once he got in his truck and started it and drove away. 

“Actually Zara, I wasn’t thinking of Neena at all when I kissed you, I just did it because it felt like the most normal, natural thing to do with you looking like an absolute vision sitting at my table at 5 in the morning eating pancakes with my daughter and I- and the way you are with her is all I could have ever wanted and dreamed of and I’ve also been praying to the gods for patience while I wait for the right woman with the right heart condition and the right values and morals to come along and love her and me and you’re exactly what I’ve been praying for and I’m scared shitless because you are so much more than I could have ever dreamed of and you just radiate warmth and love and Sakura already loves you and I’m hopelessly head over heels, over the moon- crazy about you and I haven’t been sleeping well because every time I close my eyes, I see your face and because of that,  I’m just constantly horny with you on my mind and I haven’t had sex with a woman since Neena and burying myself to the hilt in you is now my number 1 fantasy since I met you two days ago and I just want to kiss you every time I see you because I’m attracted to you and I can’t do that because you don’t know me even though it feels like I’ve known you for forever and this is crazy and I don’t know how this is going to work at all and I’m ready to just up and sell everything I own and follow you home like a lost puppy but I don’t know if you’ll let me and I’m stuck and the more you talk, the more I find out about you, the more I find to like and love about you and I’m in way over my head and I’m praying to the gods, every day to reveal to me the best path to take with you but I don’t know where to start.” Noah ranted to himself as he drove down to the airfield. 

Meanwhile back at Noah’s house. 

“Did your dad used to kiss your mama a lot before he left for work?” You asked Sakura. 

“Yup, and every time he left for work, she would pray to all the gods for fair winds and for him to have safe flights and return home to us.” She informed you proudly. 

“Could we do that? I feel like we should do the same, it’s a tradition we need to keep going.” You proposed as she eagerly got up and took your hand and brought you to the wall in the living room where a few stone symbols- symbolizing the gods they worshiped- hung on the wall-- you also had the same at your own house, a couple of them you recognized but you didn’t know the others. Then she got her prayer rug out from under the couch and got her mom’s old one and got it out and put in down for you to kneel on too which you did, copying her movements. 

“We always prayed in Intuck though.” She sighed. 

“Well, I don’t know any Intuck- but if you say the words first, I will do my best to repeat them, could you help me learn? Because the best way to learn something is to teach someone else and I know Intuck is a big part of your heritage and we should honor that and use it as much as we can.” You asked her as she nodded eagerly before she carefully and slowly and deliberately said the words as you did your best to repeat them exactly or as closely as you could and kept looking at her to make sure you were saying these words right. 

“You did really good! Not one mistake!” She cheered. 

“Thank you, I tried really hard. So what did we just pray for? Can you tell me in Anglo?” You asked her hopefully. 

“Yup, we prayed for Daddy to have good flights in good weather, we prayed for generous customers, we prayed for his plane to fly well and we prayed for him to come home safe.” She told you even though she purposefully left off the last thing. The last thing she had you pray for was for her daddy to come home with more love than he left with and for him to come home to find more love than he left knowing was there, it was an extra prayer her mom prayed for when her mama and her dad had disagreements that they needed to reconcile over but Sakura knew when she hugged you the first time that your hugs and her mom’s hugs were the same. She could feel how much you loved her already just from that one hug was enough to convince her that you were her mom and that her wait for one was over and with you already showing respect to her mama and her mama’s memory and her mother’s native language and culture told her that you were a respectful person who wouldn’t try to change her and her culture, that you would be embracing it with her and she knew that the gods sent you all the way from the Great Lakes, just to be with her. She didn’t know if she would be moving in with you or if you and your family would be moving in with her, but she was going to love having siblings. She felt like looking at you was the same as looking at a new story book, one she didn’t know the story in it yet, but could tell from the pictures that it would be her new favorite and that it would be a happy story and one with the best ending where everyone lived happily ever after. 

“Will I offend you or the gods if I continued to pray my own prayers but in Anglo?” You asked respectfully.

“Nope, the gods listen to all those who genuinely and honestly pray to them, no matter their language.” She insisted. 

“I was taught the same. Ok, do you mind if I pray out loud or should I keep my prayers to myself?” You asked her as she got back on her little prayer mat before you sat down cross legged on yours since your lower legs were killing you sitting on them and you always prayed sitting down cross legged.

“Please pray out loud, I want to hear how you pray.” She answered excitedly. 

“Come here Honey,” You invited her before she happily got into your lap and sat in it and settled against you as you wrapped your arms around her and placed your palms together but upturned.

“Why do you have your hands turned up?” She asked. 

“So that the gods can take all my troubles and anxieties, all my hurt, all my sorrow and pain and give me instead- happiness, peace, serenity, calm and answers to the problems or they can provide the answers themselves and if I’m lost, they can take my hands and lead me to where I need to go and place me where I need to be. So that I can enjoy the day and every moment in the day without my joy and happiness stolen by worry and anxiety or anger. To love and appreciate the people around me and that friends and family who will love me and care for me as much as I love and care for them.” You answered before she did the same, her little hands upturned between your own as you watched as she closed her eyes with a serene smile on her face which brought a bright, appreciative smile to your own before you closed your eyes and took a cleansing breath and addressed not just your own gods but the ones who you had just been introduced to as well. 

“Please oh gods of the heavens above, in the earth with me and in the depths of the sea-, hear my prayer. Please help me to help Sakura and her father Noatak with their troubles, no matter the kind. Help me guide them to the best and most successful path. Help me keep in mind what is best for both Sakura and Noatak and help all my words to be used with grace, kindness, gentleness, wisdom and respect. Please let there be no mistaking my words and intentions. Help me ease their pain and discomfort so that they can embrace the present and enjoy their future while not abandoning the past, but to honor it and those in it. Please grant Sakura, Noatak and my family and myself peace and serenity to accept the things we can not change and should not change, but courage to change the things we can and that need to be changed and to face what we need to face with bravery, perseverance and patience and the wisdom to distinguish between what we can not change and what we can. But to walk with our eyes towards all of you, please direct my steps so that I continue to walk the path you’ve set before me and help me guide others on their paths so that we all can have happiness, peace, meaning, purpose and fulfillment and if at all possible, success. Amen.” You prayed. 

“Amen.” Sakura mirrored emphatically as you noticed the dogs were laying down around you as you curled your hands around hers and squeezed them as she squeezed back and smiled adoringly up at you. 

“That was a really good prayer. I liked it.” Sakura praised. 

“Thank you.” You grinned. 

“So, your Daddy told me that you guys have horses,” you began. 

“We do! We should go feed them breakfast, Daddy forgot to do that before he left!” Sakura realized before you got up and got your jacket on and got Sakura bundled up before she led you to the back where a barn was and horses were sleeping in their stalls but awoke once you opened the barn door as the dogs came trotting into the barn with you before Sakura walked you through what Noah usually did when he cared for them as you happily followed her instructions and even took extra care to brush them, clean out their feet and check them over the way you did with your own horses before you walked them out to the pasture so you could muck out their stalls and tidy things up a bit before your phone rang. 

“Well hello, I take it you’re up in the air.” You mused since you could hear the plane running in the background. 

“Yeah, I was just calling to check in.” Noah said, feeling like an idiot, you were a mom, he knew he could trust you to take care of his child but he was more anxious to know how you were faring, if Sakura was behaving for you and he was desperate for reassurance that everything was ok because he couldn’t ignore the urge to call. 

“We’re doing great. Here, it’s your Daddy,” you offered the phone to Sakura as you continued to muck out the stalls. 

“Daddy! Paradise and I prayed for you in Intuck just like Mama and I used to and the way Nana and I still do and Paradise did so good! She got all the words right and she’s having me teach her Intuck because she says the best way for me to learn and remember it is to teach someone else and it’s true! Then she showed me how she prayed and I got to sit in her lap and pray with her and it was just as nice and now we’re taking care of the horses because you forgot to before you left and she says she has horses too and she’s mucking out their stalls and even cleaned out their feet and brushed them even though it was kind of hard because all they wanted to do was hug her the way they used to hug mom and the dogs are being really good too.” Sakura babbled excitedly as she sat on a bale of hay and talked with her Dad on your phone. 

Meanwhile Noah was scrunching his face because he knew he had forgotten something this morning. 

“Well tell her I said thank you very much for helping me with the horses, I really appreciate it.” He urged her. 

“My Daddy says ‘thank you for helping him and he appreciates it’,” Sakura repeated. 

“Tell him it’s no problem at all, I’m happy to do it but tell him that the blue roan will need a trim soon.” You answered. 

“She said Kabluey needs a trim.” Sakura repeated as you busted out laughing. 

“What’s so funny?” Sakura asked. 

“Kabluey is the name of a variety of blueberries. I grow kablueys at home. I think Kabluey is an amazing name for a blue roan.” You explained.  

“Well hopefully I’ll be able to do it when I get home.” Noah answered. 

“He said he’ll do it when he gets home.” Sakura said. 

“I didn’t realize your Daddy was also a ferrier.” You appraised appreciatively as you imagined what Noah would look like on your farm in a tight pair of jeans bent over trimming your own horses feet, preferably with his shirt off and maybe a shimmering sheen of sweat on him that you could help him shower off. 

Focus Zara. Horse stall. 

“So can Paradise and I go riding later? Please?”  She asked hopefully. 

“If he trusts me to take you on a ride, then I’ll happily do so but if he’s not comfortable with that, then don’t beg him and try to push him when he’s not ready.” You insisted as Noah just smiled wide into the phone as any stress he was feeling melted away. 

“Sweetie, give the phone to Paradise.” He urged her. 

“Yes?” you answered. 

“You have my permission to do whatever you want to do. I trust you completely.” Noah insisted. 

“You sure?” You questioned. 

“Absolutely. You girls have fun today, do whatever you want to do.”  Noah urged you and you both heard and felt his genuineness and earnestness in that. 

“Ok.” You agreed. “Is there anything in particular you want us to do today? Laundry, dishes? Not burn the house down?” You asked and Noah barked an amused laugh. 

“Yeah, just that last one.” Noah.

“Dinner?” You asked hopefully.

“Only if you want to, this is your vacation after all.” Noah tried to dissuade you but his tone was incredibly weak because honestly food from you would be food from the gods at this point. 

“Oh I definitely want to.” You firmly resolved. Oh you were going to woo him with food damn it. 

“Well honestly there’s some grocery shopping I need to do, there should be a list on the fridge, if you go, keep your receipts and I’ll pay you back for whatever.” Noah revealed. 

“Is there a budget you want me to try to keep?” You asked thoughtfully. 

“Well that’s the thing, grocery shopping is really expensive up here, it’s gonna be about a hundred dollars.” He warned you. 

“Yeah that’s not going to be a problem.” You reassured him. Oh you were going to hook him up. 

“Any food allergies I should be aware of? Nuts? Dairy?” You asked. 

“Nope. Although if you can find a way to make vegetables slightly more appealing to Sakura I’ll be forever grateful.” Noah hinted. 

“Awesome, and between what times should we expect you home? Like between 6-7 or 7-8?” You asked.

“Honestly I don’t know at this point, right now it looks like I’ll be home by 5-5:30 but that could change several times between now and then, but I shouldn’t be home any later than 8.” He mused. 

“Ok, do you have any preferences or any foods that you’re not allergic to but you’d rather eat cardboard than eat it? Like mushrooms? Peppers? Broccoli?” You began to list off. 

“Ok, I’ll level with you, Sakura isn’t the only one who doesn’t like her vegetables, and I feel like the reason for that is because I’m not particularly good at making them.” He confessed which got  you to laugh. 

“I appreciate your honesty. None of us are perfect. Are we usually meat and potatoes kind of people?” You gently teased. 

“Yup.” Noah nodded. 

“Ok, I’ll see what I can do, keep me posted Babe.” You offered before you slapped your hand over your mouth as Sakura cackled with glee. Her prayers were working already! And the sound of Noah laughing told you that he was at least amused. 

“Habit?” He asked. 

“Yup.” You lied because that was easier than fessing up that you were falling helplessly, hopelessly head over heels for him. You were fucked. 

“It’s ok, we’re ok, you’re good.” Noah reassured you. 

“Thank you, see you at home later. Fly safe.” You urged him. 

“Will do, see you later, bye.” Noah bid you and felt twice as high as he was. You called him a pet name. He didn’t care if it was on accident, that was heavenly. Today was going to be a great day. 

Once you were done in the barn you had Sakura come back into the house so you could clean up from breakfast and get a look at that grocery list before there was a scratch at the window and you saw a massive thunder cat at the kitchen window before it meowed at you as it looked expectantly at you. 

“Is..this cat yours?” You asked before Sakura eagerly rushed to the back porch where a trio of cats were from having gotten out of the house when Noah and Sakura had initially been in the porch waiting for you this morning. One of them was clearly a thunder cat, the others, were two of the biggest tom cats you’ve ever seen in your life and all three eagerly came into the house and rubbed against Sakura before all three came over to check you out before the thunder cat outright climbed you like a tree. 

“Claws,” you whimpered as you braced against the counter before it happily got to your shoulder to look you over and sniff you before it started rubbing it’s face on your face. 

“Well hello to you too.” You greeted happily before it outright laid down over your shoulders. 

“Comfy there?” You gently teased as you scratched his ears as it started to purr very loudly in your ears before you continued to have Sakura go through the cupboards and showed you and told you what they had food wise as you made your own grocery list as you went through the freezer and fridge to see what he had and what he needed as recipes started popping like fireworks in your head of what you wanted to cook as you made notes of what dishes he had and what you wanted in each dish. You wanted to go all out. Not just the classics and tried and true but take a leap of faith on something else as you suddenly realized- your second trunk. YES. 

Whenever you traveled you packed one set in one thing and another set in something else. Just in case either the airline, the cruise ship or whatever lost a piece of luggage, you weren’t screwed. You had packed two sets of spices and other staple ingredients. And both cases made it. In fact, not a piece of luggage had gone missing. You were going to try to sneak it in with the clan’s gift of seeds. Now- you were going give it to Noah and you couldn’t imagine a more deserving recipient or a more appreciative one. Then you went though the rest of the house, hunting to see if he needed laundry supplies or other cleaning supplies and jot those down. 

Passing by Noah’s bedroom, you practically stopped in your tracks as your nose led you to turn your head as you sniffed in a deep lungful. His scent was so strong and so alluring there and it made your mouth water. You noticed some laundry and got a basket and gathered it before you picked up a pair of socks by the bed and upon picking up both socks- they squished in your hand and you did your best to stifle your laughter and one sniff confirmed your suspicion. It felt really “fresh”, maybe from last night or early this morning and really big loads in both socks. Your ego hoped that it was thanks to you. And even if it wasn’t, maybe tonight it might be. 

Normally such a thought would annoy you or even disgust you. But with Noah? Nope. Quite the opposite. Part of you wanted to turn him on and light his fire so to speak and the thought of running him dry was a brand new fantasy for you and felt more like a mission than anything. You weren’t ashamed to admit it. You wanted him. And in this moment, badly. 

You had your work cut out for you.

You did your best to tidy as you went through the house. Not that it was terribly dirty or unkempt. Just a little cluttered here and there, some dusting was in order though. You could tell that he was in the middle of his busy season, you knew that sometimes things got forgotten or not done perhaps as often as they should when you were at your busiest. You were going to help him catch up and you had all day to do it. 

You noticed he really only had the bare essentials as far as cleaning supplies and you wondered if that was because that was all he could afford. 

Honestly, it was because of his patience and good will that you were able to make as much money as you did the day you met him and at this point, it was extra money you had not anticipated making or having in your budget for this trip and you had the very strong urge to pamper and spoil Noah and Sakura with it. All you needed was Taylor and her van. Besides she seemed keen on the match herself and you were sure she would help you and you were making your to do lists and shopping lists by the time she got there at 9. 

“Good morning.” You greeted her cheerfully. 

“Good morning,” She greeted you back sleepily. 

“So, I need the biggest of favors.” You began and your eager eyes and mischievous smile had her mirroring your expression. 

“What do you need and why?” She asked as she sidled up next to you. 

“Ok so Noah needs a few things from the store and a little bit of housework here and there and he said I could make him dinner for when he gets home tonight.” You began. 

“And?” She prodded as her grin grew into a full blown smile. 

“Want to get a breath of fresh air?” You hinted as the kids were playing in the living room with the cats and the dogs before you and her stepped out of the sliding glass door in the back so you could keep an eye on the kids but keep some level privacy. 

“Ok, so uh, stop me if I sound completely insane, but I really like Noah and Sakura and I don’t know what it is about them but I’m drawn to both of them. Like holding Sakura is like holding my own daughter and it’s like I’ve known them my whole life and we’re just the best and oldest of friends and I have the overwhelming urge to just...take care of them.” You confessed and Taylor was practically vibrating with joy. This was a great start. Things could grow and flourish from here. She just needed to give you the right encouragement. 

“You are not crazy or insane for feeling that way, especially about Noah and Sakura. No one is more worthy or deserving of whatever help you can give them. And I know Noah will appreciate even the smallest or simplest of things you can give or even do for him.” Taylor nodded her agreement. 

“Well Noah did tell me that he trusted me completely and that I can do whatever I wanted with Sakura today. So, that being said. I need to go back to your house to get my second trunk. Because that first one had all the spices and seeds in it? I had two just in case one didn’t make it. And I wasn’t sure what to do with the second and coming here and seeing how bare Noah’s kitchen really is…” You began. 

“Oh definitely. Up here there’s a belief of The Gods’ Will. Sometimes we’re moved to do or say things that may not make a ton of sense to us in the moment. But end up fulfilling the prayers of others. I know Noah and Sakura have been praying for help for a year and a half. And last year Noah and Sakura were ok because Neena’s death was still fresh in everyone’s minds and everyone helped them out but this year- it’s like most of them forgot all about them and poor Noah is grappling with how to fulfill both roles by himself and he’s just plain overwhelmed and this year he’s picking up every job he can just trying to make ends meet and some of his customers that he used to really depend on are trying to cut corners by hiring newer pilots who are less experienced with smaller planes that are cheaper to run and so far the weather has been really good so the other pilots have been able to do his job better and instead of doing several jobs at once, these places can afford to send out five individual pilots with single loads to a single destination quicker, like truckers and these other pilots can afford to all share an apartment together because they’re all single guys with no dependants and can pool resources while Noah is all by himself and has not just his own mouth to feed but Sakura and his animals in addition to his own aging parents and Neena’s aging parents because Neena’s other siblings haven’t moved back to help out Neena’s parents too but he can’t afford to lower his prices to try to compete or else he would actually lose money instead of make it and some of his customers are becoming difficult to deal with and he’s left between a rock and a hard place and in the meantime Sakura needs to go to school this year and that’s a challenge in itself.” Taylor explained. 

“Has Noah tried to move on romantically since he lost Neena?” You asked thoughtfully. 

“No. Neena was practically a saint and most women around here feel they can’t measure up to her which isn’t fair to anyone. She wasn’t perfect but she was a really wonderful person. But I know he’s really lonely and he’s been praying for the right woman with the right heart condition who will recognize his situation and treat him and Sakura with love and kindness. And I’m thinking if you instantly feel like helping them upon meeting them even if you don’t know them very well and especially if you have the means and the drive to- that you’re most likely the answer to their prayers.” Taylor revealed. 

“And if I just to happen to uh, coincidentally, find Noah incredibly, irresistably attractive and want to woo him by making him a feast and getting his house in perfect running order? And maybe even run him dry or at least raw?” You asked with a wince but a bright bashful smile none the less. 

“Yyeeaass!” Taylor practically screamed in a bright cheer before she accidentally spilled some of her coffee. “Oh shit, can’t spill the coffee, it’s precious coffee.” Taylor murmured before she eagerly sipped more of it before she put it down and hugged you and practically jumped up and down on the porch with you. 

“Ok, tell me how I can help.” She beamed. 

You had her take you and Sakura back to her house where you grabbed not only your other crate but also a few other things and then once unloaded those things into Noah’s house and you took your lists and she drove you to the best big box club store in the area that would have everything you wanted even if it was a two hour drive away. You got two flatbed carts and Sakura, Jamie and Matt all sat one one that Taylor pushed around as Katie happily helped you with yours as you happily started to strategically loaded up what you wanted and needed, not caring in the least what it would cost because you had a budget of a few grand and it made you so happy and gave you so much satisfaction to be doing this for Noah and Sakura and with some sweet talking to the head butcher, he gave you one hell of a deal on a ton of meat as you also got some junk food for the kids to keep them happy and had lunch there at the place, having got two rotisserie chickens and by a miracle, you managed to squeeze it all back into the van as the kids were happily holding their new junk food in exchange to being a little cramped with other stuff packed in around them before they quickly fell asleep and took a nap on the way back as you spent the whole two hours back working out a schedule of what to do when so that right about 6- the house could be clean and a feast would be ready and once back at the house you put the plan into action and with Taylor keeping the kids busy with a movie, she helped you as much as she could as she also wrote down your recipes as you cooked them since you knew them by heart and showed her what you were doing as you did it so she could replicate it and right at 4:30, she took her kids home to make dinner for her own family since she was going to be using the same recipes you were since all the food you would be making was already in motion which left you to portion out the remainder of the meat. 

By 5 you got the call that Noah would be another hour away from coming home and you knew it was then to start cooking the steaks and start the risotto since risotto was a very labor intensive process which would take the remainder of your attention as you and Sakura danced in the kitchen to music on your little portable speaker as you taught her how you danced and you were so caught up in dancing and grooving in the kitchen- you didn’t hear Noah come in the door as his nose practically went nuts. He had never smelled food like this before and it smelled better than anything he had ever smelled before. It made his stomach growl loudly which finally alerted you and Sakura to his presence. 

“Daddy!” Sakura cheered as she ran over and leaped into his arms. 

“Hey Kiddo, how was your day?” He asked her as he picked her up and carried her over to the kitchen. 

“It was awesome! We had so much fun!” Sakura fawned. 

“Did you go riding?” He asked. 

“We didn’t have time, we went shopping and we did something called “being domestic” which was really just chores but she made it into a game, she bought these really cool cloths that pick up all kinds of dust and she had me dust everything I could reach with my stool so that I can help you keep our castle clean.” Sakura beamed as she showed him the dusting cloth. 

“Castle?” Noah repeated, with amusement. 

“Castle law- every man’s home is his castle.” You supplied as Noah ‘oh’ed’ in understanding. 

“And she agrees that our castle is very grand in it’s own way. It may not be as big as others but it’s ours and we need to take care of it so it can protect us.” Sakura beamed. 

“I agree.” Noah nodded. “So...how far over budget did we go?” Noah asked with a bit of a nervous laugh. 

“I didn’t go over my budget, don’t worry about it, just sit down and eat. That’s all I want from you right now.” You urged as you took out the steaks from the oven and Noah made a whimpering keen when he saw them. 

“Oh I’m in trouble, so much trouble.” Noah murmured in awe as he shook his head as he just watched in awed wonder as you seamed to pull a feast out of his kitchen, he didn’t think his kitchen was big enough for half of this. He was not worthy. 

“Trouble of what?” You asked curiously. 

‘Of falling in hopelessly in love with you’. Noah’s mind was begging his mouth to say. 

“I...I’m in over my head. I have no idea how I’m...gonna pay you back for any of this.” Noah admitted. 

“Hey, Noah, look at me.” You reached out and framed his face in your hands and you had the overwhelming urge to kiss him but you knew it would probably be inappropriate and he may not appreciate that, yet anyway. 

“Do not cheapen my gifts by trying to put a monetary value to them or feel that you have to repay anything. Everything I’ve done and given was given freely and and with immense pride and joy. Do we owe the gods for when they answer our prayers and bless us? Do you think they keep a tally? No. So don’t start a tally with me, I give to you because I know you’ll be appreciative and you’re more than deserving and worthy. Please do me the honor of accepting these gifts with grace and happiness, that’s all that I ask and all that I want.” You insisted before he just lifted his own hands to hold your own face before he kissed your forehead and hugged you which you happily returned as his words of muffled thanks were music to your ears and this big hug from his was all you could fantasize about as his affection was practically making you love drunk and so unbelievably happy as you once again had that overwhelming sensation that you were at home in his arms. A new home, this one filled with so much more love than your last and it wasn’t until the dogs tried to nose their way between you that you finally let go of each other. 

“Now let’s eat before it gets cold.” You urged before you handed him the largest plate as you quickly got Sakura her own plate. 

“So what do we have?” Noah asked eagerly. 

“Ok, so what we have is bacon sauteed brussel sprouts with maple syrup and goat cheese. We have broccolini with cheddar cheese those are my two- “healthy” vegetable dishes. From there we have loaded twice baked potatoes, liquor yams, but all the alcohol should have baked off so it’s safe for Sakura to eat them, she won’t get drunk or anything. Then we have death by cheese mac and cheese, mushroom risotto with extra sauteed mushrooms to go over your steaks and dinner rolls. The only rule I have is you are not allowed to put ketchup on my steaks. I bought steak sauce and brought homemade hot sauce.” You revealed as you pointed everything out and the only thing Noah wanted to devour more than the food was you but he didn’t have the nerve or the courage just yet as he just stood there and stared at the feast as his eyes just got a little watery. 

“Could you um, like pinch me because I am not sure if I’m dreaming or halucinating. Because this is bordering on too good to be true.” He teased you. 

“It’s very much real, but if you insist on a pinch...” You playfully reached over and pinched his butt as he recoiled only slightly but started laughing as his sleep deprived brain was about to short circuit because he was on the edge of being overstimulated. Like a pet diving into a pool of new toys, wanting to play with all of them at the same time and can’t decide which one to go for first. 

“Eat, eat!” You urged him. 

“You slaved for the meal, you go first, women and children first right?” He urged you. 

“How chivalrous,” you flattered before you got yourself a good portion and sat down at the table before you opened your little jar of hot sauce for your steak. 

“Hot sauce?” You offered as you sucked on the tip of your thumb as Noah seemed to fixate on your mouth before he swallowed hard before he tore his eyes away from your mouth to take the jar and found a tiny spot on his already heaping plate for it. 

“It’s best on the mac and cheese though, like buffalo chicken dip but without the chicken.” You hinted. 

“Prayer Daddy.” Sakura urged him before he could eat before you happily reached out and took Sakura’s hand and offered your hand to Noah who happily took it and held it as he tried not to let the touch completely blank his mind as he noticed your eyes were closed and the most beautiful, serene smile was on your lips as you held his hand and you were even more of a vision now than you were this morning. He closed his eyes and addressed all of his gods. In his prayer he thanked the gods for the pleasure of your presence and prayed that whatever blessings you gave and whatever you spent to make those blessings happen, returned to you a hundred fold and that whatever you did or would ever do would find success and you did your best to wipe away your tears as quickly as you could once he said amen. Andy had never prayed about you like that and it meant the world to you. 

Noah tried his best not to moan, or cry. He tried, and he failed. 

“So, I have to say, this is the best food I have ever put in my mouth. It’s like...the gods either prepared this food or this food was prepared for them, and I don’t know if I’m worthy as a mortal to eat it.” Noah teasingly praised and you beamed happily. 

“Thank you. Welcome to Zara’s greatest hits food wise.” You gestured to the food. “For all the holidays, it’s always my dad, my brother in law Jake and myself who are in charge of the food. My dad is in charge of the smoker, so he smokes all the wings, the salmon, all the ribs and brisket and pulled pork and stuff. Obviously these are my specialties. Although my turkeys usually make my sisters cry. Jake, believe it or not is the king of casseroles and one pan and one dish dinners, like paella and all things seafood. While Anya and Tasha are on drink duty because Anya’s a professional bartender. And when it’s not holidays it’s superbowl, or it’s championships. Any excuse to get together and eat.” You explained. 

“So what did your family think of Andy?” Noah asked. 

“They got along really well, Andy was really quiet and shy at first and he was incredibly introverted. But he was also a really big guy, not quite as big as you but close and solid and he had resting…” You paused as you tried to think of the appropriate substitute. 

“Jerk face?” Noah supplied. 

“Yeah, jerk face. He couldn’t help it, that was just his face. But once he warmed up to you- oh man, you had to have a sharp wit to keep up with him and he could just deliver line after line and he could verbally roast anyone. Which at first is very entertaining and fun and my brother and my dad thought it was awesome because Andy was very much just one of the guys. But being married to that, it’s exhausting and hurtful and he had a really hard time turning the sarcasm off and he forgot to filter himself most of the time and when I would inevitably get my feelings hurt his mother would chastise me for being too thin skinned and that if ‘a Kingsley wasn’t making fun of you- they didn’t like you’ and Andy only ever had brothers. No sisters. But because he was so big and so mean looking, I could go anywhere I wanted with him and no one messed with me because they took one look at Mr. Big Scary Giant and thought twice about trying to spit game and Andy was incredibly strong and he only ever got into one fight when he was a kid and he put the guy into the hospital but Andy used that to his advantage he was a very intimidating person and one lip curl or a crack of his neck and knuckles and low growl and it was enough to unnerve anyone. Otherwise he was a great earner and provider financial and materially, he just had to be reminded often to be kind and nice.” 

“But the price of all that was you were married to a sarcastic jerk.” Noah realized in disgust as you nodded. 

“Yup, which is why I look at his life insurance policy money as money earned for being married to him so long, I know that sounds incredibly horrible and shallow but it’s the truth. Which is why when and if I get married again- how much money they make means very little to me and I don’t care about what they do as long as they like what they do because life is too short to slave away in a job you hate with people you despise. Personality is everything to me now. I got enough financially so that I’m set for the rest of my life. Now I just want to share my life with someone who makes me happy mentally, emotionally and spiritually, and of course the other kind that shouldn’t be talked about in polite company.” You specified with a mischievous grin which made Noah smile wide as he nodded and forced his mouth shut because he was about to volunteer himself, even though he was sleep deprived and exhausted, he felt he could push himself to really love you right. At least give his tongue a good work out. Because if you have the cooking skills of a goddess, by the gods, he was going to worship you like one.

Then you looked over at Sakura who was shoveling food in her mouth. 

“Hey, hey, hey, slow down, the food’s not gonna disappear when you close your eyes, if you eat too much too fast you’ll get a stomach ache, do you want to throw everything up?” You asked her which made her pause. 

“I’m not taking any of this food home with me, it’s all staying here. I made enough that you should have two dinners and a couple of lunches. And it all keeps in the fridge and microwaves pretty good.” You reassured her before she finally slowed down. 

“It’s hard for me not to inhale it all too Baby,” Noah reassured his daughter with an understanding smile. 

Once dinner was eaten, Noah happily helped you put the left overs away and got started on washing the bigger pots and pans that wouldn’t fit in the dishwasher and he was never sexier to you. Just to see this fine specimen of a man standing in front of a sink scrubbing pots. You were ready to suck him dry in the kitchen as you tried to stomp that down because he probably wouldn’t appreciate that or would be keen on letting you around his daughter again. He was a sensible, reasonable man and he may not be ready for that yet and he may not be interested romantically in you either and while you knew you were meant to be here to help. You didn’t feel you were meant to come and stay forever. You wanted him to be sure but you didn’t know how moving forward this could possibly work. You didn’t want to do him the injustice of a one night stand. You wanted more with him than just a night or two of casual sex. So in order for you to hopefully enjoy more in the future, you could deal with enjoying less in the moment. You wanted to build more. You still had a week up here, you had a little bit of time. 

“So how long will you need to get your own appointments done?” Noah asked. 

“Give me a day, I can get them all done tomorrow then I can be all yours the day after, I take it you’ll need more help with the bigger loads?” You guessed as Noah nodded. 

“Honestly more of my most difficult customers.” Noah confessed. 

“How are they difficult?” You asked thoughtfully as you helped him dry the dishes and put them away. 

“Well only because I have a bigger plane and there’s some things that won’t fit in a normal bush plane. Otherwise they’ve used the newer pilots who are less expensive and don’t have the overhead or dependants I do that can do it cheaper than I can. In fact there’s a few of them who all room together on the other side of town. But I can’t lower my own prices any lower because if I do, I’ll lose money instead of making it.” Noah explained. Normally he wouldn’t be comfortable breathing anything this personal or private to anyone. But he felt comfortable confiding in you. 

“How old are the other pilots?” You asked. 

“Psh, barely adults, they’re like walking disasters, I’ve seen them try to do flips in the air with cargo on board and they don’t show any respect for anything. They think it’s all fun and games.” Noah griped and you felt rage lick up your spine. 

“Well it does make business sense to try to undercut what you can and take chances on the less reliable if it saves your bottom line in the moment. But when you do that- you risk the quick easy fix costing you quite a bit in the future. Especially when the new easy fix isn’t reliable and catastrophic failure is always a thing you have to contend with- with anything. When I have new clients as they look at how much my own fees are and the numbers give them pause. My usual go-to is to remind them that they get what they pay for and it’s my experience and my specialities that recommend me. When we go to the hospital, do we want an inexperienced surgeon operating on us? Who’s trying to get their start in their career by slashing prices to get new clients? No. Hell no. We want the older more experienced surgeon with thousands of operations under their belt, who has kept up with their continuing education and has prided themselves on staying on the cutting edge because it’s our lives on the line. That’s why I used your services at first was because you had the most experience and you were the greatest professional that could be recommended and that’s why you’re worth your fees. Because it’s not just your own livelihood on the line, it’s your family’s and it’s your clients livelihoods too. You’re a serious and respectful professional. They aren’t. I think it’s only a matter of time before your clients get burned by using young and stupid. Because honestly, if they fail, it’s no big deal, they don’t have families that will go hungry, you do. Are these other pilot’s- locals, natives or outlanders?” You asked. 

“They’re all outlanders,” Noah answered. 

“And your clients?” You inquired as you tilted your head. 

“Locals and natives.” Noah answered. 

“Can you do me a favor?” You asked. 

“Anything.” Noah answered. 

“Write down the names of your difficult clients for me. Whenever I have issues especially with clients, especially tight fisted, cheapskate ones or ones that have problems out of my control that they’re somehow making me responsible for, I pray for them to come to their senses or simply have sense and reason. And if you could write down the names of the other pilots, I would also like to pray for them too.” 

“You’re not going to curse them are you?” Noah teased as he did as you asked of him after he dried off his hands after finishing the dishes. 

“No, I pray for my own competitors, because honestly there are some clients that are more trouble to keep than they’re worth and so I send them to my own competitors to deal with and I pray that those clients stay with them instead of coming back to me when they find out that I’m better than they are. Some clients are always about getting as much out of you as they can for as cheap as they can and I put as much distance between me and them as I can so that I will have the free space for the clients who will appreciate my quality and feel that I’m worth the investment. Instead of a “stupid splurge” that others think I am. So maybe these other clients that you’ve lost, you’re better off without them and now you’re free to take on new clients, clients who will appreciate you and not undercut you but build you up and hopefully pay better than the ones you lost ever paid you. Besides, if push comes to shove and your business goes belly up, I mean heaven forbid and knock on wood...” You quickly knocked on the countertops as he did too. “I have all kinds of connections with the air force base that’s half an hour away from me and there’s a local international airport that’s forty minutes away and there’s air fields all over, I’m sure there’s still all kinds of opportunities for you as a pilot anywhere you go, you could even be a private jet pilot if you really wanted to.” You mused as Noah considered those options. 

“But that’s neither here nor there and that’s puting like...7, 8, maybe even 9 carriages before our horses so don’t worry about it. Sometimes all we can do is pray and leave things in the god’s hands and trust that it’ll be ok.” You reassured him. “And I have a feeling everything will be just fine.” You added with a serene smile before you just enveloped him in a hug which he happily returned and he could have died happily right there in his kitchen and holding you, he felt the rest of his stress and anxiety completely leave him and if you were a goddess in the kitchen, you were an ethereal deity in his arms. Your touch was grounding yet uplifting all the same and you smelled amazing and he just wanted to lose himself in you. 

“Paradise? Could you give me a bath please?” Sakura asked which reluctantly pulled you out of Noah’s arms. 

“Sure thing Kiddo.” You agreed as you went to her and took her hand and together you went upstairs to where a large clawfoot tub was as you got her a bath, letting her use one of the bath bombs you had packed. You had again packed two sets of bath bombs and with one set with Taylor’s kids, the other set would be here for Sakura and Sakura picked one of your absolute favorites as you both watched as it dissolved, turning the water a kaleidoscope of colors as you used your special body wash to gently clean her skin as you sat on the floor next to the tub so that you could wash and rinse her hair as well as she played with her toys in the tub and once her hair was done, you got some leave in hair conditioner and detangler for her hair as you lovingly and patiently combed it all out. Sakura had such long and delicate fine white hair, like strands of silk by the time you were done with it and didn’t even notice how Noah was watching from the doorway. 

He had taken the moment of peace to finish up his paperwork for the day and just watching you be the mother you were with his daughter was practically bringing him to tears again. It was such a beautiful, heartwarming sight and if he had thought he was head over heels in love with you this morning, he was a goner for sure now. He felt incredibly whole and full after feeling so broken and hollow for so long. Something he thought impossible three days ago. But he was not about to question it. He was just grateful for it. 

Once she was cleaned up and the water was turning cold, you drained the tub and wrapped her up in a towel and helped her get ready for bed before she had you read her a story as Noah got a shower himself after rinsing out the tub of the remains of the bath bomb and since Sakura’s room was right across the hall, you got the glorious gift of seeing Noah in nothing but a towel around his waist as he walked from the bathroom to his room and seeing that big strong muscled back dripping with water, oh gods, you nearly fainted and the words out of your mouth trailed off as you realized Noah had one the best deriers you had probably ever seen in your life. He had curves that would put a back road to shame and once his door was shut that pulled you from admiring him back to Sakura’s story book but thankfully once you looked back to see if Sakura had noticed, she was thankfully out like a light. 

You closed the book and kneeled next to the bed and prayed to all the gods that she would sleep well and sleep in tomorrow to give Noah a chance to recover and you prayed for guidance in helping her and Noah and for the way to help to become evident to you and for you to recognize the opportunities and to have courage to take them when they presented themselves. 

When you were done you got up just to see Noah coming out of his room, dressed in pajamas and while you would love nothing more than to peel them off, the thought of bed and sleep did sound amazing and you were so tired, you had worked a miracle today, in cleaning the house and making a feast fit for a king and cleaning up after it too, although the cleaning up part was easy thanks to Noah’s help. 

“Well, today was awesome, thank you for welcoming me into your home, it’s beautiful.” You praised as you leaned against the wall after closing the door behind you and leaning against it. 

“It’s small and falling apart.” He admitted as he leaned against the wall across from you. Just taking in the vision of you in his hallway. 

“But it has a thousand times the love inside it than there is any mansion. A house is just a house until you put people in it, then it’s a home. And because of who is in this home means this is one of the finest ones I’ve ever been in.” You praised as you bashfully ducked your head as Noah looked like he was about to eat you alive in a very carnal way as he pushed off the wall and took a step forward before your phone rang and it was Taylor. 

“Hey, could you come get me? I’m ready to go and I’m so tired, I could fall over, please don’t make me walk back to your house.” You whined sarcastically as you couldn’t help but giggle a little and Noah reluctantly took a step back and knew that the door for him to prove to you just how much love was in his home, let alone himself, the door had closed as quickly as it opened and he missed his opportunity to prove it. All he could do is hope that it would open again the day after tomorrow. Maybe it was for the best, it would give him time to rest up and be fully energized. But he was determined. He was going to make you his one way or another before you left, if it was the last thing he would do and so begrudgingly he watched you leave as once again, the emptiness and hollow feeling crept back into him and he felt like warm light left the house once you did. 

Hell he would find a way to build you whatever kind of house you wanted, with his own two hands if he had to. 

“Why the fuck did you have me come get you when Noah is looking at you like a damn feast and he’s starving, I thought you wanted to raw him? What the fuck? Your opportunity to do that is behind you.” Taylor chastised you once you got in her minivan. 

“It’s not the right time. Noah deserves better than a one night stand or even a two nighter.” You argued. 

“Uh by my calculations it could have been a seven nighter if you got started tonight.” Taylor argued. 

“And then what? Have the best week of my life and then just...what? Walk away? No. I’m too invested emotionally with Sakura to do anything like that. I feel like if I rush the intimacy with Noah, I’ll lose the prize of having Sakura in the long run and they both deserve more attention and effort and time. And Noah and especially Sakura are a prize worth waiting for, worth fighting for worth doing whatever I can to help them and worth doing right. I don’t want to hit it and quit it.” You explained. 

“Look, I get it and that makes sense but I am telling you now, Noah looks like he’s about to hump that beam he’s leaning against and if you gave him half a chance I’m pretty sure he would have rocked the northern lights into your eyes tonight and every night from here on out, I know him, he’s not a hit and quit it person either and he’s as loyal as the summer days are long up here and when he does anything, he goes whole hog and he’s in it till the end, he’s a ride or die kind of guy. You said you were flexible and could go anywhere.” Taylor reminded you.

“...true. But again, I’ve only known him two days, would you drop everything and sell everything you own to move in with a stranger you’ve only known for two days?” You posed to her. “That’s putting a few carts ahead of the horse don’t you think?” You posed back to her. 

“Well ok, get to know him a tiny bit more and then bang his lights out and we can figure the rest out later.” Taylor compromised. 

“Ok, that’s a little more fair.” You laughed as she drove you back to her house where you promptly crashed. 

[amitojo]

5 Must-Reads for Success and Abundance Mindset

In this post, I will be sharing 5 books that tuned my mindset for success and abundance. As they say, it all starts in our minds / our thoughts.

If you’re not a reader — check why I started reading books and why I think you should too!

“All that we are is the result of what we have thought. The mind is everything. What we think, we become.”

Our thoughts play a huge role in how we feel and act. So if we change our thoughts, we can change our reality. If we tune our mind of success and abundance, we will have success and abundance.

The books I’m going to suggest have had a huge impact on my way of being, doing, and thinking — for the best, and it can have that same (if not more) on you as well.

So without further ado, 5 books (in no particular order) that have helped me tune my mind for success and abundance and can help you too (should you choose to read them) are:

1. Think and Grow Rich – Napoleon Hill

I was drawn to this book for its name — I mean if I could get rich by thinking, why not?! And that’s what this book is all about. We can get rich by thinking, but there’s a way to it. All money making ideas are at the end of the day ideas, which are thoughts! Napoleon Hill spent 20 years researching the ways of the rich and successful and compiled it all in what we can call a bible to be successful and rich. In it, you will find 13 principles of success and their application discussed in detail.

“Success comes to those who become success conscious.”

2. Power of Your Subconscious Mind – Joseph Murphy

This book, as the name suggests, is all about the power of our subconscious mind. It throws light on the difference between the conscious and the subconscious mind, what’s their nature, how they work, and how we can make the best use of it.

The book also shares affirmations for all areas of life such as health, wealth, happiness, etc.

“Your mind is a garden. You are a gardener. You plant seeds (thoughts) in your subconscious mind all day, every day based on your habitual thinking. As you sow in your subconscious mind, so shall you reap in your body and environment.”

3. Psycho-Cybernetics – Maxwell Maltz

This is one of THE MOST powerful books I’ve read. It throws light on the machinery of our brain, how we have a goal-setting machine; How we always achieve our goals — no matter what we set and how (consciously or unconsciously) we set them.

“Everything in life is a mental picture. Every goal you have begins as a picture in your mind. And anything you don’t like about yourself or your life can be changed by changing your mental pictures.”

4. Millionaire Success Habits – Dean Graziosi

In this book, Dean shares how he became a millionaire coming from his humble beginnings. He shares various exercises and techniques (such as discovering your vision, strengths, WHY, etc.) that he learnt from his mentors which will take you beyond your limiting beliefs to awakening the “inner hero”.

As he says,

“If you can cut a check for a problem, you don’t have that problem.”

5. The Magic – Rhonda Byrne

I believe this book will inculcate one of the most vital habits for living an abundant life. It is about the power of gratitude, being grateful. Gratitude enhances the quality of life like nothing else. Also, I have realized that the more we are grateful for something, the more we get that. What we focus on, grows. If we focus on the good, abundance, etc, we will have that in increasing quantity.

This book altered the way I look at life. Before reading this book, I thought I practiced gratitude and I couldn’t have been more wrong. Reading “magic” gave me much depth and made me realize the “magic” of life.

By the end of this book, gratitude will be your way of life and what a way to live it is!

“It is not joy that makes us grateful; it is gratitude that makes us joyful.”

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I believe that the best “shortcut” to success is to study the people who have already achieved what you want to achieve. So think of the people you want to be like, read about them, get there faster than you would otherwise. Learn from their experience, their mistakes, etc.

“If I have seen further, it is by standing upon the shoulders of giants”

Sir Isaac Newton, sharing credit of his success with the people whose work he built upon.

There’s a saying — The more you learn, The more you earn. So I make sure to invest my time and money in growing myself and learning.

“The learners shall inherit the Earth while the learned will be beautifully equipped to live in a world that no longer exists.”

One key component to success and abundance is to keep upgrading yourself, keep learning, and keep growing.

Power to you!

Happy Reading! :)

Take care, Tojo