#the permission to get in was applied in that disaster of a show too

[r-aindr0p]

hey hey hey, rollo only allowed rook in!!! 🧹🧹🧹 out malleus, out!!! did he accidentally apply it to the whole flock?

Oh it's just that there are things that apply to vampires but not necessarily to other creatures ! Rook's the only vamp that Rollo has given permission to come in whenever. Though the others would probably barge in regularly if given the permission... (idia would just crawl inside and hide somewhere comfy forever)

And yeah the rest is able to come in, invited or not :))) But most have no reason to do so tbh, the church members are all respectful enough. And it would be a bit embarrassing if they were to see that the role model actually hosts a vampire in his household....

[darlingdaisyfarm]

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚 ˖° a day at the beach with the Pines twins headcanons 

author note: okay, this is kinda a “what if au” where Stan never got kicked out of home (Filbrick I hate you), meaning he and Ford stayed together in new jersey and grew there too

u can imagine Stan with his mullet and twins being like… i bet you seen those edited screenshots of them where they are young and look like cousins of Mabel and Dipper? IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN I’m so sorry

Stan x reader x Ford, nsfw? (mostly it’s just wholesome and intimate but there’s mentions of sex still)

✧ Stan’s got you perched on his shoulders for a fight in the water and he’s talking shit the entire time, calling Ford “the human string bean” and yelling, “ya better hold on, sweetheart, ‘cause i ain’t lettin’ this nerd win!” spoiler: Ford wins

✧ the three of you build a sandcastle, no, no really. because Stan and Ford argue over everything in the process. Ford wants it to have “structural integrity,” while Stan insists on making it look “badass.” somehow, it ends up being both, a tower with a moat and little seaweed flags that Stan claims are “pirate-approved!!!” you’re the judge, of course

✧ Stan steals your sun hat. just straight-up snatches it off your head and plops it on his, smirking at you. “whaddya think, doll? does it suit me?” and honestly it kinda does, but you’re not gonna tell him that. Ford’s the one who eventually grabs it back, muttering about “immature antics” while carefully placing it back on your head

✧ imagine playing with Ford’s hair as you lay next to him on the beach, getting your fingers tangled in his soft strands, the ocean breeze making it swirl a little. you’re leaning closer to his face next thing he does is pressing soft kisses to your wrist. Ford’s eyes are beautiful, so when he glances up at you, he looks like he’s asking for permission to take that next step. like he can’t wait to kiss you, but he’s waiting for you to make the first move

✧ sharing the towel with Stan and Ford after you’ve all been in the water. sand sticking to your skin, that salty taste all over your lips. Stan just drops his towel on top of yours, pulling you in close so you’re trapped between them. “ain’t no way I’m lettin’ ya get cold, pretty,” Stan’s hands are sliding up your legs, getting close to the waistband of your swimsuit bottoms. Ford’s fingers caress your skin, too, both of them deciding who gets to take you first. god, you could melt between them. it’s totally not because of the sun

✧ they challenge you to a volleyball match, and oh god, it’s a disaster. because Stan’s so competitive, diving for every ball and yelling, “yer gonna hafta do better than that, sixer!” while Ford tries to play by the actual rules. sadly, it ends with Stanley smacking ball right into Ford’s face with “oops”

✧ Ford’s got sunscreen smeared across his nose because he applied it so meticulously he missed the most obvious spot. Stan, being a little shit, doesn’t say a word until you point it out and that makes him die at his brother’s embarrassed reaction. Ford just says, “at least i won’t look like a lobster.”

✧ Stan teaches you how to skip stones. but “teaches” is a strong word because he mostly just shows off, throwing perfect skips and smirking at you every time yours plops straight into the water. “ain’t no shame in bein’ bad at it, sweetheart. not everyone can be as talented as me.” Ford, of course, chimes in with, “it’s all about the angle of release,” and then he decides to demonstrate, making it look annoyingly easy

✧ they both get weirdly protective when some random guy starts chatting you up. guess who’s first to speak and says “don’tcha got somewhere else to be, buddy?” ??? 

✧ IDK WHY BUT I JUST SEE IT HAPPENING. hear me out. Stan buys you ice cream from a cart on the boardwalk, but the bastard purposely gets himself the messiest one he can find, idk, like a triple scoop with chocolate drizzle and sprinkles AND GUESS WHAT? it’s melting faster than he can eat it, dripping all over his hands and chest. HAH SUCKER (sorry i love him sm) and if you’ll look at him, his chest especially, thinking he won’t notice, believe me he will, “whatcha lookin’ at, doll? ya wanna lick it off me or somethin’?”

✧ Ford’s way more methodical with his treat, carefully choosing something sensible like a popsicle. he tries to eat it while reading, holding his book with one hand and the other balancing the melting stick. but he’s a silly guy who doesn’t know what summer is, so his popsicle drips onto the page and Stan immediately makes fun of him for it 

✧ more bout ice cream thing: it becomes like some kind of foreplay. Stan insists on buying you the biggest cone they have, all drippy and sweet, just so he can watch you try to eat it before it melts. “careful, baby,” as he messily licks a stray drop off your wrist. Ford doesn’t stop himself from leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth, tasting the sweetness. by the time you’re done, the three of you are a mess of sugar and salt and heat

✧ at one point, Stan flops onto your towel, shaking sand everywhere. “hope ya don’t mind sharin’ with yer favorite guy,” he says, throwing an arm around your shoulders. however Ford tries to protest, pointing out that there are plenty of other towels, but his brother just smirks and says, “don’t be jealous, sixer. there’s room for you too.” and that’s how you three end up all squeezed together in a ridiculous pile

✧ Ford collects seashells. of course he does. hes a cutie. he’s walking along the shore, muttering to himself about “the fascinating variety of mollusk species” while carefully placing his finds into a small bag. Stan tries to look cool in front of you so he mocks his twin, calling it “nerd treasure,” or “typical nerds hobbies”, but later you catch him sneaking one of Ford’s shells into his pocket :)

✧ you challenge ford to a sand sculpting contest and he takes it so seriously because he’s sketching out blueprints in the sand, muttering about “load-bearing structures” while you’re just piling up sand with your hands. Stan joins your team, of course, and together you make the stupidest creation ever. Ford’s castle is a masterpiece, all detailed and structured, but when you ask the kids nearby to judge, they pick yours because it “looks funny!” 

✧ Stan’s sunglasses break because he sits on them and instead of admitting defeat, he just steals Ford’s

✧ it starts innocent, like most things do. Ford’s helping you tie the strings of your bikini top after a swim. but he’s not as composed and cool as he seems. Stan, being nearby, catches the whole thing. “aw, sixer, don’t be that nervous. want me to show ya how it’s done?”

✧ Stan’s teaching you how to body surf, him standing waist-deep in the water, his chest glistening from salt water and all golden from the sun. “so you just have to let the wave carry ya, toots,” he grins but he doesn’t let you go far, placing his big hands on your hips before squeezing your ass  

✧ they’ve set up a beach blanket, which is big enough for all three of you, and somehow you’ve ended up pinned between them. as always. not like you complaining though. Stan’s lying back, laying his arm around your shoulders. but Ford is more intimate, he’s talking about something you can’t even focus on because his hand is on your thigh as he brushes his fingers against the skin just beneath your bikini bottom. and then you both hear: “ya gotta share, sixer. can’t hog her all to yerself.”

✧ they both look at you like they’d devour you right there if they could

✧ Stan likes to tease, but he’s downright filthy when he gets you alone in the water. the sunlight makes your skin glisten beautifully and he can’t keep his hands off you. “ain’t nobody around, cmon,” he whispers in your ear as his fingers sneak beneath your bikini bottoms. “lemme feel ya, darlin’.” the saltwater does nothing to cool the burn as his fingers press in slowly and your body trembles, while his free hand holds you steady against him, his cock hard against your ass

✧ Ford acts all gentlemanly at first, adjusting your sun hat when the wind threatens to blow it off, complimenting how stunning you look with the ocean behind you. but you just have to tease him, so you lean into him and whisper something sweet and a little filthy in his ear. his reaction is immediate when he pulls you into the shade of a lifeguard tower, slipping his hand under your bikini as he kisses you and grinds his hips against you

✧ Stan cant help himself, he likes to watch your lips wrapped around the straw of your drink. it drives him wild. guess why

✧ Ford’s chest a little pink from the sunburn he’ll complain about later, but right now, he’s distracted by the way Stan’s fingers are trailing up your thigh as he applies sunscreen on you. he spreads the slick lotion higher, closer to where your thighs meet. Ford glares, but he doesn’t stop him; instead, he leans down and kisses your shoulder, saying something about needing to check for missed spots

✧ uh. . . imagine sneaking off to one of those little wooden beach huts which are meant for changing clothes, but it barely fits all three of you. but don’t be sad, the cramped space only makes things hotter!

✧ you’re dripping wet from a late afternoon swim and your bikini clings to your skin what makes Stan whistle and Ford fumble with his towel. the sun is setting behind you, turning everything in this golden, honey-like colour and you look like something out of a dream for both twins. “y-you’ll catch a cold,” Ford says as he wraps the towel around your shoulders. “nah, she’s burnin’ up already, don’t u see,” Stan is already behind you as he kisses your neck and the towel falls to the sand

✧ there’s something so funny but intimate about the way they take turns rubbing sunscreen onto your skin, even when you protest you’re fine on your own

[veraynes-blog]

Ok so, just because you've been talking about them a bit recently, would you give me your take on Ollie/Malcolm for the ask meme? Pretty please? 🥺

Oh wow. Okay. I can try, but I feel like I should give a caveat that I'm legitimately struggling to envision them in any kind of actual relationship that isn't just the antagonistic, downlow, lifestyle dom/sub thing they have going on in the show. Some of the softer questions actually make me squirmy trying to imagine. 😳😅

Alright, here goes.

Who’s the cuddler?

Ollie I guess?? I think he's needier. And probably has always thought cuddling after sex was mandatory. Like, he's got it timed down to a perfect 3.7 minutes of cuddling before he can roll away and not offend his girlfriends. That said, I don't think Malcolm lets him and Ollie has no idea of the polite procedure after that.

Who makes the bed?

Malcolm. Like a civilised fucking person.

Who wakes up first?

Malcolm. He has lives to ruin and press releases to script and disasters to avert and bollockings to give and reporters to bribe and PMs to schmooz and political underlings to crush beneath boot heel.

And pancakes to make for breakfast, before he gets to any of that. 🥞

Who has the weird taste in music?

Ollie. You so know he listens to weird fringe indie stuff and thinks it makes him cooler for not being mainstream.

Who is more protective?

Oh my god. I don't. Wh. I don't think that word applies here? Haven't they both actively sabotaged each other's life, career and wellbeing? On multiple occasions? I mean if I have to pick one, maybe Malcolm? But only because 1) he'd be more personally offended if someone else took out his minion without permission, and 2) he's the one of them with enough power and influence to be protective, if he so deigned.

Who sings in the shower?

Malcolm. He's very unself-conscious about his self-expression. Ollie's too tightly wound and anxious, even in private.

Who cries during movies?

You think either of them has enough empathy? 😐

Who spends the most while out shopping?

Malcolm. I think he has an image to maintain and expensive tastes, actually.

Who kisses more roughly?

Malcolm. Well. I don't think this pairing do a lot of kissing, tbh, regardless of whatever else they get up to. But if they did it would be bitey.

Who is more dominant?

Malcolm. Not even speculation. We literally watch him dom the hell out of Ollie every time they're on screen together.

My rating of the ship from 1-10.

"I'll make you happy, Malcolm" out of 10.

[fizzingwizard]

rambly, bit warning for mention of death and stuff

I used to be really into action/adventure stories, scifi, fantasy, thrillers... Although I always preferred stories that focused on characters more than plot, a story with an intriguing plot with a satisfying (or satisfyingly unsatisfying) outcome was always the most memorable.

I heard about iyashikei many years ago and remember being flummoxed. It's a story-telling style in Japan which is just about peaceful scenes, comfort, and feeling relaxed. It didn't seem interesting to me at all. I thought of that style as the Thomas Kinkade of literature/movies. I loved Ghibli films, but I never thought they fit that style, or fit it only in part.

My gosh, how I've changed in just the last five years. When I met my boyfriend, we bonded over X-men and Star Trek and recommended adventure novels to each other. Now he's still into all that, but I've moved away. It's not that I don't like those things anymore. I just don't get whatever it was I used to get from them. I don't want to watch new Star Trek shows. I don't want to read new adventures novels. Just the thought is exhausting to me. A fantasy novel hits the bestseller list, and instead of running out to buy it, I go, "Not another dystopia."

And I've totally embraced that iyashikei story. I want to live in it. It's true I still don't like things that are always perfect peace and harmony - but most of the stories I've encountered in this genre aren't. They're just gentler, slower moving, and dedicated to their aesthetic.

Basically my interests have done a 180 and I'm kind of in shock over it. It's really hampered me in some ways, because of course, I always dreamed of being like NK Jemisin and having my own awesome adventure series out one day. In the space of a few short years I lost all interest in doing something like that, although I still want to write. I just want to write things most people wouldn't want to read, lol.

So I'm trying to pinpoint when and why the change. When I started reading the Moomin novels a few years ago, even though I was a full-grown adult, I was completely drawn in. It's tough to explain, something to do with the atmosphere and philosophy. Moomins fits really well in with iyashikei. It's not too cutesy or too sweet to put me off - it's whimsical and fun and adventurous, but also calm and reassuring and wise. Every reread tells me something different. I don't think Tove Jansson and I are very much alike, but she makes me wish "heartful" was a word, because it seems to apply to her stories much better than thoughtful.

But why did I fall in love with Moomins so hard? As much as I'd like to think the stories would have the same effect on anyone, more likely it's because of my headspace when I found them. I was in a new job, just past the point of struggling and starting to find my feet, but still feeling unsure about it. I was in a new relationship. I was having a lot of family issues. And I was really unhappy about the world in general. I think my own head was just so full of stress and helplessness, and I really wanted permission to feel happy. Moomins gave me that. Those books swept in and reminded me how insignificant I am, and how significant that insignificance is. They reminded me what "tolerance" should look like - not the tolerance that made me hate the term, but hospitality and true loving your neighbor. It made me feel okay with being a basketcase yet loving storms (I relate way, way too much to the Fillyjonk in the Disaster story). And I loved the harshness and the great love and the wonder in the story of the little whomper who wishes his baby brother away. Honestly, Tales is such a great book. I was just like Moominpappa in trying to understand the incomprehensible sea. On my first read of November, I thought it was such a sad story. But on each progressive reread, the book becomes full of light. The family which can't connect with each other needs to find what each member needs to feel free in themself before they can fix the connection. And they need to face what they can't have, because it's out of their control.

I'm just rambling about Moomins now lol. The point is that I came across the Moomins right when I needed them, or something just like them. I felt so lost and alone but was determined to tough it out by myself. Although I've always been someone who loves solitude, I didn't really have it in me to be alone and heartbroken. Reading the books gave me some strength. I felt like my childhood had been a lie, and that nobody cared about that but me. And I felt that my life spent biting my tongue and not saying what I think was going to be my future too. And I don't know, Moomins didn't fix anything, I still have all those problems, but I guess I feel less alone with them. Like here are these people just living their lives being judged but not judging back. They don't bite their tongue, but they still don't talk because it's much better to do what you want than waste your breath. And knowing Tove wrote it all while being very human and mercurial herself is all the permission I need to love and believe in the stories despite my own weaknesses.

And I still don't feel like going back to action/adventure stories. That's what's most surprising. I'm going to see the new Spiderman movie this weekend. But aside from now and then stuff like that, I'm just not moved by thrills and high action. Maybe someday that will change - I thought it would - I thought I would have reverted years ago. But it still just sounds exhausting to me. The world is so much, I just want a small corner where no one will bother me. The other day I had a vision of myself lying in a patch of soft clover like I loved doing as a kid, and a stranger came up an stabbed me. My boyfriend ran over and called an ambulance, but I told him that if they said it was a fatal wound, then they should leave me because I'd rather die in the clover than at the hospital. It was very odd to think about, but the thought of dying in the hospital just made me so sad. More than the thought of dying itself.

Although it's morbid, I think that well expresses how I've been feeling these past years. It's not like I'm unhappy. I'm doing pretty well and mostly cheerful. But even when I was a kid I tended to think about sad things in a friendlier way than I think certain other people do. It's natural to end up a loner, because no one really wants to talk about that stuff with you. It's why I always say I'm no good at small talk. And I like thinking about the universe and spirituality and philosophy. I don't like politics or other stupidity. And I've felt my ability to do the former is very threatened by goings on in the latter. And lately my fear is that I'll find peace through resignation: okay, these people are never going to respect me for this or that reason, so I'm just going to let them not respect me and keep my thoughts to myself, because at least they'll still be mine. That's true in a sense but it's not good. It's not good because this is my one and only life, and it's fucking stupid that some people think they should decide for me what I am capable of because I'm a woman. Or any of the other myriad specious "reasons" bigots come up with so that they don't have to feel afraid.

tl;dr I just am so done with the world and want to go frolic with the Moomins, lol.

[copingmechanism1899]

Sept 29, 2025

yiKes. I’ve been spending too much time around- around… I’m not sure who but sometimes without thinking, it’s just.. possible pickup lines running straight from my brain to my mouth.

Tell me why my RA came in for Touchpoints, and as she was leaving, told me Health and Safeties are coming up, I ask if the regulations have changed, and we joke about how you can’t have air fryers, anything fun, and she said “or anything that brings you joy”. And without thinking… I said “so I guess you’ll have to get out of here then.”

brUh. She laughed and said it was cute, and we went lurking separate ways… but damn. This is the first time I’me met her face to face. agh.

Anyways, debating if I should get food. Not really hungry and it’s already 8:47p. But like, if I get pizza now, I have it for breakfast tomorrow.

But I don’t know if I’m gonna want breakfast. Because once again, it’s a painting day. Technically 10-3, but I’ve gotta get there early to set up (there are 2 practicum coming) and it always takes time to get into the shop.

It’s so frustrating because our Production Manager (and asst. prod man) made sure to send an email to security (on Friday) that I would be in on the weekend, and that they need to unlock the scene shop and the film studio.

But I get there, and the security guard says that they have no note saying they can let me in, and that they need permission to do so. I show them the text that says an email was sent, and the APM sends another email (she’s on a train at this time). But I’m told that it needs to be a phone call.

So, 20 minutes after I wanted to start, I’m finally allowed up. And this is ridiculous because the same thing happened last week. Nothing is ever simple, and as I was leaving I was told to tell the PM/APM to call tomorrow before I come. So , they’re not going to get their email shit together then.

Whatever. Painting today was uneventful, the 2 practicum were quiet, and it was a little awkward for A (a friend who was on shift) and me.

B (who’s costume for this prod) stopped by, and we got a late lunch before I got back to painting after the others left.

I feel so… drained and on the verge of tears in tears. For so long, every part of this process felt so slow, but now shooting is in less than a week and nothing is how I want it to be.

We can’t be in the space because there are classes in the space during the day, and I’m busy during the week so tomorrow is really my last full day.

Which is messed up because we’re supposed to go out to get more set dressing on Tuesday. Technically it was supposed to be last Tuesday, but the elevator broke down so we got moved.

I don’t know the state of our floor “tiles”, and our double sided tape is both the stickiest thing and not holding up our pieces. So, not great.

I’m so nervous that something is going to go wrong, or it’s not going to be good enough. And it needs to go well. I have to make this look good or I think I’m quitting design altogether.

Big Fish was a disaster, the last film I was on looked like shit, and next semester is my last semester.

Do I want to do another school production? No.

Do I want to do Oklahoma (the rumored musical? No.

Do I want to complete with S (the only other scenic focus in my year) and win so that I’m doing the “biggest” show of the semester? Yes.

And there’s no guarantee that she’ll even apply. Maybe she’ll get an outside job and brag that she doesn’t need to do a school production. Maybe she’ll get it and I won’t. There are too many unknowns. But every production I’ve done here has made me feel awful, and I’m not proud of any of it.

I even joke that this director is the best one I’ve ever had because she hasn’t (directly) made me cry. And that’s a really low bar.

But whatever. The production is still making me miserable. And I have all day tomorrow to hide it. Practicum 11-3, key GG 2-6, and I guess I’m going to be 9:30-6:30 because we have to move everything out of the way for key GG, but then move it back later so it’s not in the way of the classes that happen during the week.

I ordered food. It’ll go in the fridge.

[familyagrestefanblog]

Okay but when are we gonna talk about the fact that is has been made clear several times in the show by now that Marinette can't know the holder of the Black Cat miraculous or just straight up doesn't WANT to know it, so it would be VERY odd for the show/ Marinette to just screw that rule over in "Kuro Neko" out of the sudden.

Chat Noir giving up the ring doesn't suddenly mean that the important practicality of that rule just disappears into thin air. So it would be logical in my opinion to think about OTHER people than Marinette who could be the ones to possibly give Adrien Agreste the ring afterwards (entrusted by Marinette to make that choice):

Alya, can't do it because Marinette knows that Alya already is aware of her Ladybug secret (duh) and therefore as Marinette said in "Ephemeral", Alya can't also know who Chat Noir is. Meaning Alya is out.

Luka is a solid option in my opinion. Marinette already decided that she trusts Luka with knowing Chat Noirs identity in "Ephemeral" and she isn't aware that he already knows her identity so that definitely speaks for him (also it would be a nice parallel to "Desperada" where Adrien was the one to recommend Luka to Ladybug as the Snake Miraculous holder instead of him).

Su-Han. I don't like this option after "Ephemeral" but at the end of the day I have to take this into consideration because it is a reasonable option she has already been told exists. Marinette is also on better terms with Su-Han at the end of that episode, so even though I would definitely see it as her throwing Chat Noir under the bus when she ends up having Su-Han choose a new Black Cat as they said in "Ephemeral" when she can't "control him", its not she came up with that solution of Su-Han knowing instead of her for no good reason. So I can unfortunately definitely see it happening one episode later in "Kuro Neko".

I would say Plagg himself is also a solid option we shouldn't forget about? Marinette just received another reminder in "Ephemeral" that absolutely ANYONE knowing Chat Noirs identity apparently can lead to horrible consequences, so having the one person who has to know Chat Noirs identity anyway choose the new holder isn't far fetched? Also we have to keep in mind that we have absolutely NO CONTEXT for why Adrien gives up his ring yet. The Fandom mutually agreeing on some things and everybody running with that doesn't equal confirmed context. All we know is that Adrien gives up the ring and that Plagg is angry yelling in Marinettes room. That's it. I would say Plagg trying everything he can to get back to Adrien is absolutely on the table, and this also includes having Marinette allow HIM to choose his new holder so he can return to Adrien. It's just the APPROACH that Plagg would use to make Marinette give him that permission that would change according to the context around that situation. Or maybe he just fucking steals the ring and Marinette has to meet the new Black Cat under these circumstances, who knows? All I'm saying is that if Adrien is really CatWalker then we shouldn't write off PLAGG as the person who brings the Miraculous back to him, because in my opinion Plagg absolutely WOULD!

Is there anybody else I forgot about who could choose the "new" Black Cat miraculous holder in "Kuro Neko"? Because as I said, in my opinion it makes absolutely no sense for Marinette to make that decision when the show has been VERY clear about her not being allowed to know the black Cats identity. And to be honest, I don't know if I could ever forgive the narrative/ Marinette if they/she were to completely disregard THAT fundamental rule out of the sudden, even if it's just temporarily in Marinettes eyes. It absolutely doesn't matter. The amout of rules that only actually apply for Chat Noir but Ladybug doesn't have to follow and can bend however she pleases are the core problem of the never ending Ladynoir miscommunication disaster. But my goodness THAT goes absolutely too far! PLEASE don't have Marinette be THAT short-sighted to have her pull this thinking it's somehow okay. Because it's NOT.

[etirabys]

I started reading Carolyn Elliott's Existential Kink because of this blog post, am 1/3 through, and cannot imagine a book that could more appeal to me while also belonging to a genre that will say, “What [this book] is presenting to you here is ... a witchy, tricksy, feminine path to enlightenment that's quite a bit different than the more publicly vaunted, masculine routes of asceticism, contemplation, and yogic saintliness.”

The ultimate operation the book is trying to perform on the reader, assuming the reader has preexisting masochistic tendencies they can amplify, is to get them to notice the pleasure they can potentially take in the most uncomfortable moments of their lives and reframe it as pleasure. 

The worldview/aesthetic the book tries to impart:

[I thought,] "God is one kinky-ass motherfucker. God—the divine—whatever He/She/IT is—creates this world, and this world is a gonzo horror show of war and rape and abuse and addiction and disaster. If God is running the show, God must like it this way!" Now, you might guess that a thought like that would lead to some kind of terrible nihilistic breakdown. But for me... actually, it didn't. Instead, it made me smile—perversely—and gave me a feeling of lightness, play, and possibility. ...

Well if God is a kinky freak and I'm a part of God like all these “spiritual” people say, maybe deep down I'm a kinky freak too. And maybe I can get more in touch with my divine nature by giving myself permission to like all the scary stuff in life, instead of just resenting it. ...

I propose that all our suffering and stuckness in life comes from forgetting that we're divine sparks playing a wild kinky game and that great miracles can come forth in our lives when we reverse the process of forgetting by deliberately reclaiming the pleasure of the game.

The title is well chosen! The book is trying to get the reader to treat life itself as one big BDSM scene that they can lean into if they want.

Which, this is a weird sell, but it happens that I'm totally into this and have been doing it on my own*, so having someone dump a whole framework of doing life that extends this is delightful and intellectually stimulating!

* I used to be normally socially anxious where I just felt awful, but these days when I'm uncomfortable because I said something stupid or cruel, or someone's pushing my boundaries, 50% of the time I notice and go, "whoa, I'm uncomfortable, that's interesting and nice in a way". I do this simply because it's better to feel nice and interested than awful. Raw misery is hard to spin this way, but anything complicated where there’s some human nuance in it provides a launchpad for this transition.

The author describes "orgasmic meditation" where she lies down for a time-limited period, focuses on the sensation as someone rubs her clit, and does not attempt to change the kind of stimuli she is receiving. There are obviously strokes she likes and strokes she is less into, and part of the point is to expand the range of things she can enjoy – going from "oh, not this one" to "yes, even this one". And you can apply this same process to, well, life:

This practice of “getting off on every stroke” can, by analogy, be extended beyond the context of Orgasmic Meditation (or sex) and be applied to life, wherein one considers everything that happens as a “stroke.” As in, comments that other people make to you—those are strokes. Surprising situations that arise—those are strokes. A critical monologue from some inner voice—those are strokes.

Also very congruent with how I (would like to) think of life.

I would never recommend this book broadly. Either you're open to being expansively masochistic like this appealing or you aren’t. But man is it good at articulating a cohesive is+ought framework that, if you could lean into it, can get you to do this top-down reinterpretation of more experiences as pleasurable.

[sparks-joy-imagines]

Howdy! I absolutely love the works you guys have done so far and cant wait to see where it goes

May i request sanji with a s/o whos absolutely horrible at cooking and at night they try to secretly improve it but one day get caught by sanji

thinking hes gonna get angry for using his kitchen without permission, and for not even making something good, they start apologizing immediately but instead of getting angry, sanji is actually very supportive and helps teach them how to cook better and boosts their confidence?

Thank you! Have a good day!

hey love❤ I AM SO HAPPY THAT YOU ARE ENJOYING OUR WORK TT^TT it’s been long since I wrote for Sanji so I hope I could channel his sweet essence good enough~ Hope you can enjoy this imagine as much as our other stuff and please have an amazing day✨ - mesu. Vinsmoke Sanji x reader It hadn’t even started on a whim. You simply wanted to take an interest in Sanji’s passion as much as he was in yours. But ever since you were a child, anything involving food has been a struggle for you. It was like the ingredients were volitionally working against you.

Still, you were adamant to improve your skills so you could show Sanji how much you cared for him and so that he wouldn’t feel embarrassed by your lack of skills. How could Sanji, the master chef, have a significant other who was bad at cooking after all?

You had no doubt that Sanji would be willing to teach you but given your history of turning anything you touched inedible and Sanji’s experience with starvation you thought it no good idea to exhaust your supplies for a likely lost cause, especially in front of him.

Instead you made it a habit to pick some ingredients up on your own whenever you made port. Once you accumulated a decent enough amount to work with, you waited till everyone but the night watch was fast asleep. Then, you would sneak into the kitchen and try your luck, albeit you didn’t quite know how to.

Tonight, too, you stood in front of the pantry and tried your best to get the yeast of your dough to work. It was half past four in the morning and even if your eyes were burning, you wouldn’t stop until you either got one of the doughs you prepared to rise or the sun crept over the horizon to signal you that you had to scurry away.

Sulking you glared at the two trial doughs of which neither had risen. You had tried everything; mixing according to recipe, not mixing according to recipe; adding chilled milk, adding warm milk and yet it still didn’t work out. This was a disaster. Again…

Lost in thought as you were, you didn’t notice the footsteps approaching. Only when a warm pair of arms wrapped around your torso and a face buried in the crook of your neck to inhale your scent, you winced in surprise.

“You’re up early, (Y/N),” Sanji muttered against your skin with his raspy morning voice, stifling a yawn.

You couldn’t help but tense up in his hold. Once Sanji realised what you were doing here, he would surely get mad and scold you about wasting supplies and desecrating his kitchen. Your eyes started to burn when you felt Sanji press a kiss on your neck and turn his head to peek at the bowl.

“Working with yeast, love?”

“Please don’t be mad.”

“Huh?”

You started shivering in his hold, yet didn’t resist when he turned you around so he could face you. Sanji’s hands found their way to your cheeks and cupped them as he searched for your gaze, “What’s wrong darling, mh?”

Looking down you nibbled your lip, clearly hesitating to offer any explanation.

“I’m so sorry I used your kitchen without your permission. I know how you dislike ingredients being used in vain and I really just wanted to become a better cook so you could be proud of me, but I’m just horrible and I don’t deserve being in-…”

Before you could continue your ramble Sanji had simply shut you up by pressing his lips against yours lovingly. Unravelled, you simply sank into the kiss.

After a moment you mumbled against his lips, “Why aren’t you angry?”

“How could I be when you’re trying your best to learn about what I’m passionate about?” Sanji grinned sweetly and lightly patted your head, “Also, don’t worry about the ingredients too much. Just having something not turn out as it is supposed to doesn’t mean it’s inedible after all.”

You didn’t hesitate when he took your hand and pulled you over to inspect the trial doughs you had deemed failures.

“These for example,” – Sanji took one of the bowls which habited the dough in his other hand and paid it a close look – “Sure you may have mixed different amounts of the ingredients but that’s an easy fix. See the one here is sticky so it needs more flour; the other one is too floury so it needs more liquid.”

Amazed, you looked from one bowl to the other and back, “…so… it’ll be fine if I just put those two together?”

Sanji beamed at you, “Precisely!”

He put the bowl back down and loosely wrapped his arm around you, giving you a little nudge closer to him, “Wanna try it?”

You nodded, took a deep breath and put the two doughs in another larger bowl to mix them. While you were busy kneading through you what soon looked like a decent enough product, Sanji marvelled at you from the side, “That’s it, (Y/N). Look at you applying the perfect amount of pressure! You’re so good at this.”

Even if his words spread a warm feeling in your chest, you were still conscious about one more thing.

“Thanks, Sanji-kun. But it still doesn’t explain why neither has risen, though.”

“You see, yeast is a tricky ingredient. It’s actually alive, if you will, and needs food and warmth to thrive. If you give it a little bit of sugar and warm milk, it’ll love you. Just keep it away from salt and you’ll be fine.”

Still busy with your hands you shot him a surprised glance which seemed to tell That’s all?

Sanji smirked softly and chuckled, “Don’t tell me you always mixed the yeast with salt first?”

Your expression was more than telling and after a moment both of you burst out with light-hearted laughter. Maybe asking your boyfriend for advice in the kitchen wasn’t such a bad idea.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Whumptober Day 17: Dirty Little Secret

CW: Creepy whumper, whumper POV, implied whump of a minor, implied noncon references

“Well, Kelly, you’ve spent an hour talking politics, is there anything else you’d like to hear my thoughts on today?” Governor Oliver Branch sits easily in the padded chair behind his desk. It’s a deep, dark burgundy with little brass accents, and not that he intends to tell Kelly Donahue this particular bit of information, but it very comfortably holds the weight of two.

“Well, let me check.” Kelly smiles at him - bright, perfectly-applied deep pink lipstick, camera-ready stylish-but-demure blue dress, legs crossed politely at ankles, sensible heels. Shellacked hair. The cameraman, on the other hand, is wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and looks like he’s ready for a beer at the bar downtown.

Oliver would rather be at the bar, too.

Still, he’s just as camera-ready as Donahue - had his boy get his favorite suit out, a charcoal gray so dark it’s nearly black, while they played Interview. Baldur loves the game - one of the only times Oliver allows him to speak, when he pretends to be a reporter asking Oliver questions, and Oliver loves the sparkle he gets in his eyes.

He loves extinguishing the sparkle, at the end of the game, even more.

The color of his suit is carefully chosen to pop against the chair, and he hasn’t worn it on TV before. It’ll go over well, he’s sure of it. Even Nancy had nice things to say.

The tie he’s wearing - a burgundy that matches the chair with a brass-colored tie pin, just to hammer the coordination home - was wrapped around Baldur’s wrists this morning. There’s a delicious little thrill to wearing it now, knowing that some of Baldur’s sweat is still in the silken fabric. 

He takes a breath, thinking of the way the boy knows how to beg, and how delightful it is to read in his eyes how much he would like to beg for it to stop, but is too well-trained to do anything but beg for more.

The shameless scandal of it all, if they ever found out, always adds an edge to their moments together. Baldur is, of course, as close to a relationship as Oliver has had since he decided to run for Governor.

Got a little annoying to keep paying to keep rumors underwraps. Didn’t cost so much more to simply buy himself someone no one else will ever know about. An easy financial decision, nothing more.

A financial decision that knows exactly how to do that thing with his hips-

“Are you open to some questions about your personal life?” Kelly cocks her head, and her hair doesn’t move an inch. Oliver can’t help the way his eyebrows raise, very slightly. Whoever does her hair… Oliver would very much like to offer them double their wages at the studio to get them to do his hair instead.

“Oh, of course, Kelly. You know, I’ve always been an open book to my constituents, since I ran for city councilman and read my own ‘don’t ask about’ file out loud during a meeting.”

A nice bit of theater, that. He claimed to have gotten it from his opponent, but really… Oliver had written the damn thing himself. No one knows your dirty little secrets better than you do, after all. 

“Yeah, I remember - I was there for that.” Kelly laughs, tucks a bit of hair behind one ear.

Oliver blinks, looking her over. He thickens his southern drawl, one of the things polls routinely find his constituents find endearing about him. Just a good old boy from Charleston, somehow finds his way to California to settle down for good. Really, it adds a hint of sincerity to all is falsehoods. “No. Impossible! You’re hardly old enough, my dear.” It sounds like idle flattery, but for once, it’s all genuine. Oliver’s been governor of this great state for nearly a decade, and was city councilman for quite some time before that, and Kelly can’t possibly have been out of school-

“I was a senior in high school,” She says, almost shyly, apparently guessing at his next question. If he were a different man, he might flirt with her. But what’s the point, when he has someone - something better, hidden away just behind that door? 

“What led a senior in high school to attend a boring old city council meeting? Sure you weren’t such a good civic-minded young citizen as all that?”

She giggles a little, then glances over her shoulder, mouths something at the cameraman. Oliver can guess what. Edit that out.

Kelly Donahue doesn’t want the episode to be aired with her giggling like a schoolgirl at a bit of idle flattery. Well. Everyone has their things they like to hide, don’t they?

She has her giggle. Oliver has a teenage boy locked in his bedroom.

He almost wishes he’d had Baldur hide under the desk for this, instead. Imagines speaking with Kelly, all sincere interest and open honesty, while petting through Baldur’s soft, shining hair, hooking fingers into his collar to pull him up against Oliver’s leg… He thinks about hosting a perfectly normal interview while Baldur is drugged to dozing, right there. 

He’s done it a dozen times with field trips and one-on-ones. Flirting with disaster - with the absolute chaos that would ensue if the boy were found - is exciting in ways that nothing else in Oliver’s life ever has been.

Baldur’s so very good at holding so very, very still for him, and feeling that boy shaking with energy he isn’t allowed to expend, fighting all his own instincts... Oliver had his youthful indiscretions, and there is no drug, no girl, no boy, no drink… nothing in his life, absolutely nothing, feels as good as knowing that Baldur’s entire body is begging him to move - and one word from Oliver means he can’t.

And if he does - if he breaks the order, if he cannot help but disobey it… well, then Oliver gets to do his favorite thing on Earth. He gets to tell Baldur it’s time to play a game.

Then he gets to hurt him, and hear the way he cries.

There is no power on earth like the power you could hold over another human being’s very nature, and all for a bit of money changing hands in discreet ways. Thank God for shell corporations, or he’d be in prison by now.

“Oh,” Kelly says, blushing a little, interrupting his thoughts. He ticks his smile a little wider. “I was there to argue about something with the Pledge of Allegiance, actually.”

“Ah, yes. The Young Republicans Club. I remember that whole mess.” Oliver waves on hand, gives a soft laugh. “If you’re still in contact with any of them, I do hope you’ll give them my absolute apologies for stealing their thunder that night. I promise you, Kelly, Scout’s honor-” Oliver crosses his fingers up in a little salute. He was never once in his fucking life a Boy Scout.  A little money changes hands, a few documents are forged, and now he was an Eagle Scout who led community service. Funny how that works. “-I had no idea what any of the topics were going to be, I was too nerved up that night, really I was.”

“Oh, that was years ago.” She waves her hand a little, but her own smile has widened in response to his. “It’s not a problem. I was just… honestly, I didn’t see it at the time, but it was a privilege to see that kind of political theater in action.”

Oliver’s laugh is bright, and loud, and he wonders if the boy can hear it, through two doorways and a hallway’s worth of distance. If he’ll listen for the sound of his Sir’s laugh, to try and gauge when it’s over. If he’ll be waiting at the door to the bedroom, waiting to be allowed out, to be given permission to do… well, anything.

“Theater? I am wounded, Kelly. I was merely being honest-”

“Now, Oliver, I know a bit of showing off when I see it - I do plenty of it on my own.” Kelly laughs, too, and they are such good friends, Oliver and the journalists who come here to interview him. He’s a boring bit of story, honestly - a reliable progressive governor of a reliably progressive state. No wife and no kids, no scandals, no weekend indiscretions. 

Governor Oliver Branch does his job and does it well. His legislature likes him, more or less. His constituency adores him. He’s been re-elected in a landslide. There’s been talk about Presidential aspirations, although Oliver’s never thought any higher than the Senate.

Senator Oliver Branch. 

Now that sounds lovely, doesn’t it?

He’ll have dumped the boy by then, of course. No loose ends. The boy has plenty of skills to find himself a new keeper. Even if he doesn’t, he won’t be Oliver’s problem anymore, will he?

He’ll buy another, then.

He and Kelly chat, the interview going off without a hitch. It’s softballs all the way through, easy-to-answer questions, because no one has any difficult questions for him these days. No, Oliver is a good governor in a good state doing good things with good intentions.

Oliver smiles. The questions are easy and his approval ratings are high. There’s been some discussion about a Presidential run, although he’ll of course be bashful and refuse such an idea. His character can’t take the scrutiny, he’ll say, and everyone will laugh. 

All great men have things they’d rather hide, after all.

Although perhaps not things quite like this.

Down the hall, behind a locked door, Oliver Branch’s dirty little secret sits wearing only one of Oliver’s button-ups, knobby knees curled up to his chest, collar buckled snugly around his neck.

The boy rocks and rocks, staring through the tiniest gap in the drapes over the balcony door, watching the clouds move in the sky and wondering what it would feel like to go outside.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes

[songtoyou]

PRomance - Part Two

Paring: Chris Evans x Famous Reader

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1,662

Warnings: None

Description: Chris needs some good press. He convinces one of his closest friends to partake in a PRomance.

A/N: This idea came to me one night. This is pure fiction as I do not know what Chris believes when it comes to politics and policy issues. This is a complete work of fiction. Italic represents flashbacks for this chapter. Bold represents text messages.

I do not permit my work to be to be posted on any other site without my permission.

Tag list:  @ccolz88-blog​ @katiew1973​ @southerngracela​ @inlovewith3​ @thevelvetseries​ 

Note: Updated for grammar and punctuation edits.

Chris had been so wrapped with interviews while in D.C. for ASP. He was excited about some downtime. However, Chris knew he would not be able to enjoy himself too much. Tonight was the night of the official “outing” he would have with you. The hired paparazzi would be staked out of the selected hotel and restaurant to capture pictures of you and Chris entering and exiting both establishments. You mentioned to Chris and Megan that the first outing needed to be simple and not extreme. The outing should draw attention but not appear out of the ordinary. 

It was not like you and Chris had never been photographed together. The fans were used to seeing you both hangout from time-to-time. As Megan mentioned, the two of you always had a “will they, won’t they” vibe. Neither you nor Chris paid much attention to it as neither wanted to jeopardize the friendship. However, you could not quiet the little voice in your head that told you this whole situation might end up making things worse. 

You had a couple of days off from your talk show, so you planned to travel to D.C. for the weekend. It was not lost on you that the day you traveled was Valentine’s Day, which was such a contrast to how you spent the holiday last year. Your former boyfriend was a chef who preferred the quiet and nomadic life. As you and your friends affectionately nicknamed him, Chef was never keen on participating in the Hollywood/celebrity spectacle with you, which you understood. It was not his scene, not his type of people. 

Your friendship with Chris also did not help matters as your ex could not hide his contempt for the actor. You never could quite understand the resentment. “He is just a little too friendly for my taste. The guy doesn’t understand boundaries. Like, why would he? Chris can do whatever he wants, and no one says anything against him,” Chef ranted one night.

“You don’t know Chris as I know him. Is he perfect? No, of course not. But he isn’t some evil guy you make him out to be. You have never bothered to get to know him…” you tried to counter, but Chef cut you off.

“I don’t need to get to know him. I don’t like him. Plain and simple. Y/N, you are too naïve sometimes.”

“So, basically…what you are telling me is that you don’t trust my friendship with Chris. Is that correct? You don’t trust him around me. But overall, what this tells about you is that you don’t trust?” you replied, angry at him. He was ridiculous. 

“Look, I don’t want to fight about this anymore. Let’s, I’m sorry. I do trust you.”

Unfortunately, it turned out that Chef did not trust you. The constant arguing about Chris began taking a toll on the relationship. It was too much drama that neither wanted to deal with; you both decided to go your separate ways last November. Overall, it was for the best. You did not leave the relationship with any ill contempt for your ex but were disappointed that you could not make it work out with him in the end.

Chris made sure that a car service was scheduled to pick you up from the airport and take you to the hotel. While you took the time to put away your clothes and sort out your toiletries, there was a knock on your door. Peeking through the peephole, you saw Chris and opened the door to let him inside.

“Hi!” you squealed and wrapped your arms around Chris for a hug.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Chris responded and returned the hug. “Thanks for coming out tonight and staying for the rest of the weekend. I appreciate it greatly. I know you are busy with your things, and now I got you entangled in my mess…”

“Chris, will you shut it. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to. I know your intentions with this whole situation are good. I’m not going to deny that I’m happy you decided to come to me with this and not some up-and-coming starlet for this venture,” you admitted candidly.

“Well, you are one of the few people that I can truly trust. So…” Chris began as he sat down on the bed, “Everything is set for eight o’clock tonight. We have reservations at Karma Modern Indian because I know how much you love Indian food. I forgot today was Valentine’s Day, so we were lucky to get a table.”

“You forgot it was Valentine’s Day! What a disappointing fake boyfriend you are,” you teased him.

“Haha… I’ll buy you a cookie later if it makes you feel better.”

You merely rolled your eyes and lay down on the bed. You were tired. It had a long week, and the one thing you wanted to do was take a nap. Thankfully, you had a couple of hours to spare before dinner tonight. Chris could see that you were exhausted and that your eyes were now closed.

“Hey, I’ll come back later, okay. You want me to call you to let you know that you need to wake up and get ready?” Chris asked.

“Yeah,” you mumbled as sleep overtook you, and Chris quietly got up to step out of your hotel room. 

By 6:45 p.m., the sound of your iPhone began ringing, which woke you from your slumber. “I’m up. I’m up,” you said when answering, knowing it was Chris on the other end.

“You sleep well?”

Yeah. It was a much-needed nap. I’m going to start getting ready. I’ll meet you down in the lobby at 7:50, okay?” you told Chris.

“Sounds good. See you in a bit,” Chris replied, and you both ended the call.

Once showered, you applied your makeup and styled your hair. There was the added pressure knowing that you would be photographed, so you went for a more sophisticated look. Your outfit was a white off-shoulder long sleeve sweater dress, which you accompanied with knee-high length gray boots and a burgundy leather jacket.

After giving yourself a final look over in the mirror, you grabbed your clutch and headed out to the lobby. It did not surprise you that you arrived at the lobby first as you knew Chris tended to take longer to get ready than he liked to admit. You also figured that Chris was probably dealing with anxiety, not only about ASP but the outcome of tonight as well. You decided to shoot Chris a quick text message.

You: I’m dressed and waiting in the lobby.

Chris: Okay. I’m coming down.

As you continued to wait for Chris, you looked outside the hotel and could vaguely make out the photographer standing across the street waiting for you and Chris to exit.

“Oh my God. This is going to be such a shit show,” you said quietly to yourself. Now your anxiety about the whole thing was about to resurface. 

“Alright, I’m ready to go,” said Chris as he walked towards you. “Wow! You look nice,” he commented. 

“Just nice?” you teased as you gave him a spin.

“You look gorgeous,” Chris replied.

“That’s better. There’s a photographer outside waiting. Thankfully, our driver is already waiting for us,” you told him and added, “So, remember what we went over? No looking in the direction of the photographer. We walk side-by-side. If we hold each other’s hands, we interlace them waffle style. None of that palms flat pancake style you tend to do. Okay?”

“I got it. This isn’t my first rodeo, Y/N,” Chris pointed out.

“Alright. You ready?”

“No,” he said bluntly with a grin.

“Me either. Deep breaths. We got this,” you replied with a light laugh and interlaced your right hand with Chris’s left hand. 

As you exited the hotel with Chris, you wondered again the ramifications this outing would stir amongst fans and the media. Would this be accepted or challenged? Would reputations be ruined? These are the concerns you shared with both Chris and Megan. Your manager and publicist were not keen on the PRomance situation with Chris. 

“You used to say that you would rather stick a needle in your eye than partake in desperate PR setups,” your publicist reminded you.

“And I still maintain that sentiment, but Chris is my friend, and he needs help. I would rather him come to me than scrounge around for some no-talent starlet to agree to this PR stunt. It would just end up blowing up in his face,” you said.

“Y/N, need I remind you of Hiddleswift and how that was such a disaster. Tom has never fully recovered from that fiasco,” your manager shared. “My worry is that you could end up being Tom Hiddleston in this scenario.”

“What! That is absurd! Why would I be Tom in this situation?” you asked, confused.

“You have more to lose. Listen to me; you are in the first season of your talk show. It is getting great ratings. Great reviews. NBC just signed the show on for a second season. The chances of you and the show getting nominated for the Daytime Emmy Awards are high. This thing with Chris could cause all of that to come crashing down. We don’t want you to be the butt of anyone’s jokes, sweetheart. It would be completely unwarranted,” you publicist explained and asked, “Are you sure that you want to do this?” 

“Yes, I do. Trust me. I know what I’m doing. This is Chris we are talking about; he is a good guy. He’s not going to throw me under the bus if this all turns to shit. The two of us are in this together. I trust him.”

‘God, please don’t let this blow up in our faces,’ you said to yourself once entering into the restaurant with Chris by your side.

[sperastella]

For the Damerey prompts, if you still want them... Unexpected soulmates or bearing the marks of the others pain thing?

Hello lovely friend, thank you so much for the prompt! I hope you like this:

Finding your soulmate was supposed to be a joyous occasion, at least that was what Rey assumed from all stories she had read. Now, as Rey climbs the stairs toward his office, she feels nothing but dread.

Rey Andor’s soulmate, the one person perfect for her in the entire universe, was her Thermal Systems Design professor — Poe Dameron.

Also Available to Read on Ao3 »

Professor Dameron

Rey Andor was practically shaking when she arrived at Amidala Hall. She knew what she needed to do, but she wasn’t sure if she had the strength to do it. The truth had been weighing on her for the past three days until she could no longer ignore it.

She had found her soulmate. 

The whole thing was a freak accident. Rey had been studying in the library for a test when she noticed him on a ladder reaching for a book on the top shelf. As if by some cosmic stroke of fate — which in hindsight is probably apropos given the circumstance — his shirt came untucked to expose a patch of skin just below his abs. That’s when she saw it: his soulmate mark. 

For as long as she could remember, an identical copy of that very same mark greeted her every time she looked in the bathroom mirror. She recognized it instantly and knew exactly what it meant. They were soulmates.

Finding your soulmate was supposed to be a joyous occasion, at least that was what all she assumed from all stories she had read. Growing up in foster care, the idea of finding the one person specifically made for you in the universe, a billion-to-one shot for most, seemed too good to be true. Now, as Rey climbs the stairs toward his office, she feels nothing but dread.

Twenty-one years on this spinning rock, surviving Plutt, and graduating early from MIT to start her Master’s, none of it could have prepared her for this. 

Rey Andor’s soulmate, the one person perfect for her in the entire universe, was her Thermal Systems Design professor — Poe Dameron.

Yep, It was a total disaster. 

She had liked Professor Dameron (not like that, at least not until three days ago) from the moment he stepped into the classroom and began his first lecture by quoting Leonardo da Vinci: “Knowing is not enough; we must apply. Being willing is not enough; we must do.” 

Professor Dameron was emphasizing his class was about more than just learning, his students would be expected to put those learnings into practice. He was the cool, young, wiz professor on campus who scored nearly perfect marks on ratemyprofessor.com 

Now all she could do is wonder if her entire opinion of the man had been skewed. Did some part of her subconsciously know he was her soulmate this whole time?

Forget about it. 

There was no point in rehashing the past. She was here to tell him. She had to tell him. Let the chips fall where they may afterward. Quite frankly, she wasn’t even sure what she wanted. Just because they were soulmates didn’t mean things magically happened once they found one another. As her adopted father Cassian would say, soulmates still need to put in the work. Of course, putting in the work is probably easier when soulmates are not teacher and student. She can’t even comprehend the social repudiation if anyone were to find out.

Rey pauses just outside his office to take a deep breath before finally knocking on his door.

“Come in,” calls a warm voice from the other side. 

“Hello Professor Dameron,” greets Rey, trying desperately to keep her voice steady. “Do you have a few minutes?”

“Rey, yes, of course,” he smiles, standing up as she entered his small workspace. “That’s why we have office hours after all.”

“Thanks.” 

“What can I do for you? Did you need help with something?” 

She stands in the middle of his office, her arms fidgeting with the straps of her backpack as she tries to ignore the flutter in her stomach at the sight of him leaning against the desk waiting for her response. Had he always looked that handsome or was she only just noticing now? 

Shit, this is already a disaster. Get it together girl. 

“Um…” she stutters, closing the door behind them and setting down her backpack. The last thing she needed was an audience. “I was hoping to talk to you…” 

“Okay,” he nods.

She nods in return. Her mouth even opens but no words come out.

“Rey, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she blinks. “I just um...need to talk to you.”

“Right, you said that…”

“Yes, I uh...saw you the other day.” 

Good, start with the facts. 

“In the library.”

“Okay…” 

He still looks confused and who could blame him. She wasn’t exactly making this easy.  Admittedly, how the hell was she supposed to tell this man, who happens to be her professor, that they are soulmates? 

“I uh...um.” Rey feels her face heat up as the idea forms in her head. It’s such a terrible idea, but the words are out of her mouth before she allows herself to think twice. “I need to show you something if that is okay?” 

He tilts his head, still obviously very confused. “Yes, of course.” 

Reaching down, she lifts up her shirt to expose her bare stomach and chest to him.

“Holy fuck Rey,” snaps Professor Dameron as his face goes beet red and he spins around to turn away from her. “Stop it. What the hell do you think you are doing?” 

She slides half her bra up and cups her right breast in her hand, stretching out her stomach. 

“I uh...need you to look at me.” 

God this is such a bad idea. Why did she do this again?

“Absolutely not.” His back is still turned to her and his voice is raspy. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you can get us both in by pulling a stunt like this? What are you thinking? You need to leave, right now!” 

“Please,” she whispers, trying desperately to keep it together long enough to get this over with. “Please...I...I can’t leave until you look at me.”

It takes a while, but Professor Dameron reluctantly turns around. His eyes stay averted for a few moments until they eventually find their destination: the small spot just at the underside of her right breast where her soulmate mark is located. 

She watches his pupils expand as the realization hits him. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs, practically tripping over himself.

“Yeah…” she chuckles, somehow managing a timid smile. 

She watches his eyes and brain processing everything in real-time, likely all the same things she had spent the last three days having anxiety attacks over. After a few moments of silence, he takes two steps closer and reaches out with his hand until abruptly stopping halfway. 

Rey nods wordlessly, giving him permission to continue. 

Her stomach bottoms out when the tips of his fingers make content with her skin and gently trace over her soulmate mark. Their eyes stay locked on one another as he caresses the soft spot along the underside of her breast with his fingers. It’s a feeling like no other, and not in a sensual way (although it is also that), but rather one of total completeness. It warms her from head to toe and she can’t help it when she sighs happily into his touch.

“Shit,” he says, pulling his hand back. “I’m sorry...I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s okay,” she hums, blushing as she pulls down her shirt and notices the lack of space between them. “It was...nice.”

Professor Dameron equally flushes crimson and runs his hand along the back of his neck speechlessly. 

“So um...what happens now?” she asks, ducking her head and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“I don’t know. Is...Is this something” — his eyes shift away uneasily for a moment — “Is this something you want to explore further?”

Rey takes a deep breath before answering.

“Yes...” She bites her lips. “And what about you?”

His chest rises heavily before he nods silently. 

They stand facing one another for what feels like an eternity and Rey swears she catches his eyes dart down to her lips. 

“I think you should go,” he announces eventually. “We can take it slow, figure out the rest later.” He gives her a nervous smile that she finds all too endearing. 

“Take it slow,” Rey repeats, “Okay.” 

Picking up her backpack, she heads to the door, but not before turning around. 

“I’ll see you in class next week professor?”

“Poe.”

“Pardon?”

“If it’s just...us,” he stammers as his face once again turns crimson, “If it’s just us, I think you should call me Poe.”

Rey can’t help but also blush. 

“Poe,” she whispers, nodding and leaving his office.

She smiles to herself, not needing to turn around to know he watches her walk all the way down the hall until finally turning out of sight.

[uncloseted]

Hey, I’m a big fan of your blog! When I saw the post about stupid questions, I thought I’d ask for some help. This isn’t necessarily stupid, but I don’t know.

How can I seem more confident?

I am confident within myself, but people are always telling me how insecure I am. Everyone is saying that I should be more confident. I don’t feel insecure, so why do I seem that way? I can be kind of quiet, so maybe that’s why.

Thanks!  This isn’t a stupid question at all!  The thing I get asked the most is actually how to build self-confidence or to care less about what other people think.  For you, it seems like the issue isn’t actually in having self confidence, but in projecting self confidence.  Some of that is in body language- having good, open posture (no crossed arms or legs), making eye contact, standing firmly, and not fidgeting will help to convey confidence.  Some of it is in language- instead of hedging what you’re going to say will, “I think” or “maybe” or minimizing your feelings with “just”, try making clear, concise, and strong statements that end declaratively rather than questioningly.  And some of it is in actions- do you ask everyone around you what they think before you make a decision?  Do you defer to other people when a decision has to be made?  Do you do things that you’re interested in, wear things you want to wear, watch what you want to watch, etc., regardless of what your friends are doing?  You might appear more confident if you start asserting yourself or focusing less on what other people think of you.

Here are some other tips and tricks I’ve amassed for building self-confidence and not caring what other people think.  Some of it might be relevant for you and some of it might not, but hopefully someone who needs it will see it.

The first thing to remember about confidence is that people aren’t drawn to people because they’re beautiful, or smart, or kind, or fun, or interesting.  People are drawn to people who are confident (or appear to be confident).  If you’re confident and weird, you’re not weird, you’re a visionary.  If you’re confident and ugly, you’re not ugly, you’re “unconventionally beautiful” or a trendsetter.  If you’re confident and overly serious, you’re not boring, you’re a leader.  A lot of people think it’s the other way around- that only beautiful, smart, charming people who are well-liked can be confident- but it’s not true.  To use a Skins example, Tony’s not a good person.  He’s manipulative and cruel.  But people like him (at least in the beginning) and go along with what he says because he’s confident.  The same goes for Katie.  You can argue about whether she’s objectively the most attractive girl in the group, but she acts confident in herself and in her appearance, and it works. Lots of guys are attracted to her.  So that’s the first thing- don’t focus on changing yourself (physically or emotionally) in the hopes that you’ll be more confident.  Instead, focus on changing your mindset to that of a confident person.  It will make a huge difference.

Of course, that’s all easier said than done, and the process of building self confidence can take a while.  In the meantime, while you’re on the journey of actually becoming confident, one thing that can help is “faking it until you make it”.  When you’re going about your day, ask yourself, “how would a confident person who’s never experienced insecurity or anxiety handle this situation”?  Then do what a confident person would do.  If you have a really confident friend, it can help to imagine what they would do in a given situation and then do that.  Pretend everyone you meet already loves you and thinks you’re great.  Pretend like you think you’re great.  It will feel uncomfortable at first, but you’ll start getting used to it and the “confident” responses to things will start feeling normal.  One thing that can make this a little bit easier is to talk to yourself in the second person.  By saying things like “you’ve got this”, your brain will (sort of) feel like you’re receiving advice from somebody else, which is more motivating than getting advice from ourselves.

There are also some exercises you can use to build your self confidence on your own. Some of you have heard this one before, so bare with me, but the first thing I suggest is:  every morning, look at yourself in the mirror and say some things you like about yourself.  I know you probably feel like you can’t find any, but try.  Focus on those things that you like and try to only focus on those things.  Write them down, either physically (on a sticky note on your mirror, maybe) or in your phone.  Each day, try to add a new thing to the list.  When you’re out and about, remember those things that you like about yourself, focus on them, and try to draw attention to them.  When other people compliment you, add those to your list as well.  I think eventually by recognizing all of the things that you like about yourself, you’ll be able to feel like there are things about you that you can be confident in, and you won’t focus so much on the things that you feel are negative.  These don’t have to just be things that are physical.  You should include things you like about your personality as well.

A lot of people who are insecure use deprecating humor to cope and as a bid to get other people to like them.  But I think that can be really emotionally damaging.  Like Hannah Gadsby said in Nanette, “I have built a career out of self-deprecating humor, and I don’t want to do that anymore..do you understand what self-deprecation means when it comes from somebody who already exists in the margins? It’s not humility. It’s humiliation. I put myself down in order to speak, in order to seek permission to speak, and I simply will not do that anymore, not to myself or anybody who identifies with me.”  Self-deprecation impacts our self-esteem, and it impacts the way people around us view us.  The more times we say something, even as a joke, the more we start to believe it, and the more the people around us start to believe it.  So instead, make fun of yourself by pretending you’re really, really cocky.  If you trip and fall, instead of saying, “I’m such a disaster”, replace it with “I’m the epitome of grace and beauty”.  If you make a piece of art and you think it sucks, say, “Obviously I’m the next Di Vinci/Michelangelo/whatever.”  If you say something dumb, instead of saying, “I’m so stupid,” say, “I’m clearly the next Einstein.”  You still get to make a joke and diffuse any awkwardness the situation has, but you also get practice saying nice things about yourself.  And eventually, you’ll get so used to saying nice things about yourself as a joke that it won’t feel so weird to say those things about yourself in a serious way, too.

For those people who feel insecure about things they did in their past, try and think of something embarrassing one of your friends has done.  Can you think of anything?  The vast majority of people remember their own embarrassing moments really vividly, but don’t remember things other people have done at all.  Reminding yourself that you’re probably the only one who remembers or cares about the mistake you made can help you let go.  The mistakes you’ve made in the past are learning experiences that you’ve grown from and changed from, and the fact that you’re embarrassed by them is a good thing.  It means that you’re not that person anymore- that you’ve become someone better.  I think that’s something to celebrate instead of something to cringe at.  It can also help to talk to yourself as if you were a friend who’s remembering an embarrassing moment. Would you tell them how embarrassing that moment was and how much they suck?  Probably not.  You’d be nice to them and tell them things will be okay.  Talk to yourself like you would a friend.

The fact that people aren’t paying attention to what you’re doing doesn’t just apply to cringey things you did in your past.  People are unlikely to remember that one time you tried a new hairstyle or wore an unusual piece of clothing.  They’re unlikely to remember that one time you asked someone out and they rejected you.  So many of the social pressures we feel can be remedied by remembering that most people are way too worried about what they’re doing and how they appear to the world to care about what you’re doing.

One more piece of advice- stop comparing yourself to other people.  The old adage, “comparison is the thief of joy” is totally, scientifically proven to be true.  Comparing ourselves to other people (or to TV shows, movies, characters in books, etc) makes us much less happy because we’re comparing everything we know about ourselves, good and bad, with a curated version of this person.  We don’t see them when they wake up in the morning with crusty eyes and frizzy hair, or when they have the flu, or when they’re overwhelmed and anxious and lashing out at the people around them.  But the truth is that everyone, even the people you think have perfect lives that you see on social media, are just people.  They have bad habits and negative traits and days where they’re not at their best, just like the rest of us.  If you really want to start being confident, one of the best things you can do for yourself is to mute or unfollow the people who make you feel insecure online, and replace them with people who inspire you- artists or activists or cute videos of animals, whatever works.  You’ll never be able to feel good about yourself if you’re constantly tracking all the ways in which you feel you don’t measure up.  But you will if you’re constantly seeing all the ways in which you do.

Last thing. Basic life care stuff, like good posture, exercising, eating well, sleeping well, meditating, and just generally practicing self-care and taking care of yourself can improve your confidence as well.  If you’re not starting on a strong foundation, it’s hard to build anything that will last.  But if your foundation is solid, all of the things you do to build your self-confidence on top of that will be, too.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Grounded pt2

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, Kayo, Virgil

Still no idea if this is going to end up a multichap or just a long oneshot, but it’s still going, still not finished, and here’s another 6k words to add to the pile.  I don’t like lifting lines and stuff from episodes, so this section works around the canon stuff in Venom but doesn’t actually quote it directly at any point (I have watched that ep so many times today).  Ditto to yesterday - no proof reading has happened yet.  As this section deals with the episode Venom, watch out for spiders.

Part 1

The journey passed in mostly silence, Virgil wrapped up in whatever thoughts were running through his head and Gordon controlling the ice compress.  At one point, he set it to one side entirely in favour of retrieving a tub of Brains’ anti-bruise cream.  Compared to the ice, it was slightly warm to the touch as Gordon applied it liberally across his shoulders and torso; he couldn’t stop his chest hitching at the touch and his brother gave an apologetic half-grin but didn’t relent until Scott’s bruises were entirely smeared with the stuff.

Scott was grateful for it – past experience told him that while it was no miracle cure, but it would certainly help.  With the painkillers almost entirely worn off, and well over an hour before Virgil would let him have any more for fear of an overdose, anything that would help dull the pain was welcome.

The chill of the returning ice pack some ten minutes later elicited an unexpected sigh of relief, which in turn seemed to coax another almost-smile from the brother standing over him.

If he’d thought the rage of his brothers was intense, it was nothing compared to the short woman waiting with firmly crossed arms and eyes of steel when Scott emerged from Thunderbird Two, flanked on either side by brothers keeping him upright when his body wanted to curl up from the pain.  He’d been spared the indignity of being stretchered out, Virgil adamant that the best thing for him was walking on his own two feet despite the pain, but was leaning rather heavily on his brothers.  Without any painkillers, every breath sent stabs of agony through his torso.

There was no sympathy in Grandma’s eyes as she’d ordered him to the infirmary.  Scott had known better than to expect any, even though he would have preferred some – he was in the wrong for going out on another mission knowing he was injured, and Grandma wouldn’t let that slide.

It wasn’t a long walk, but even that wore him down as he stumbled his way through the hangar, brothers still keeping him steady up until they entered the room.  One of the beds was already raised at the head, ready and waiting for a patient.  Unless there was something Scott didn’t know, they were only expecting one.

“Uniform,” Grandma said firmly, arms still crossed.  He was already stripped down to the waist from Virgil’s initial check, and it was Virgil who held him up as Gordon ducked down to remove his greaves and boots before pulling the flight suit down his legs.  Any protests Scott had about being able to deal with his own uniform were swallowed before given a chance to be vocalised.  From the look in his grandmother’s eye, he’d lost the right to his pride the moment he’d left for Cornwall.

That didn’t make it any more enjoyable to stand in the middle of the infirmary in nothing more than his underwear.  Thankfully, as soon as his uniform was gone Virgil guided him over to the prepared bed and insisted that he get on it.  Scott didn’t protest, and not only because his ribs were killing him.  Grandma looked no more impressed than his first sight of her in the hangar, and if there was one person in the family Scott would never dare push too far, it was his grandmother.

She didn’t say anything, just watched as Gordon folded up the dirty uniform and put it out of the way while Virgil rummaged around behind him for several seconds before returning with a needle.  Scott looked away with a grimace as it headed for his arm.  He hated needles – always had done, always would do – but after the prick of it pushing through his skin came the much needed rush of relief.  He sagged back against the raised head of the bed, tentatively taking deeper breaths now that the action didn’t send stabs of agony through him, and let Virgil fuss with the covers.

“I’ll take it from here, boys,” Grandma said after a few moments.  “You two go and get yourselves cleaned up.”

“But-”

“Now, Virgil.” Favourite grandson or not, Virgil knew when not to push his luck.  With one last look at Scott, brown eyes still dark with guilt and even some betrayal, he put a guiding hand on Gordon’s shoulder and left the room, younger brother in tow.  Scott watched them go with a heavy feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with his ribs.

Grandma cleared her throat, the noise loud in the silence, and he reluctantly turned his attention to her.

“I know you know better than this,” she started.  While he was normally taller than her, even with the bed in a reclining position she towered over him and Scott was reminded of being a young child having been caught climbing the tree he’d been forbidden from going near.  “What on earth possessed you to get back in that pilot seat not once but three times with a broken rib, young man?  You’re lucky it didn’t cause more damage.”

Scott thought back to the trash mine, Virgil storming off without a backwards glance and Gordon turning his back on him in order to get the surviving pod secure in the module. Part of him wanted to say he hadn’t had a choice that first time, his brothers totally ignoring him, but he knew that wasn’t true.  All it would have taken was a single call to John to get Thunderbird One remote piloted home, and on the miniscule chance even that hadn’t alarmed Virgil and Gordon, he was perfectly capable of boarding the large green ‘bird without their permission.

“I didn’t want to upset them,” he admitted.  After whatever had set them both off, he’d thought giving them some space would be best, and they’d both feel awful about not noticing.

“Your brothers are big boys, Scott,” Grandma cut through his protests.  “Whatever little spat the three of you were having, you know they would have much rather you came clean then than find out the way they did.”  Scott winced.  Finding out from someone they’d barely exchanged three sentences with was hardly the best way.  “I don’t care what argument you boys get into, you all still have to trust each other on rescues or International Rescue will fall apart.”

Her words stung. There was no doubt she knew that he’d been failing as a commander since they’d received the SOS from Braman. Gordon had even called him out on his distraction at the air show, reminding him that even though they were trying to save Dad, they still had a world to look after in the meantime.  He’d been right then, and Grandma was right now.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I messed up.”

“You did, but I’m not the only one you need to apologise to,” Grandma replied, perching on the edge of his bed.  “I want you to stay in here tonight.”  He agreed, and after a moment she made her way to her feet again.  “Now then, I need to talk to your brothers.”

“No!” he protested, reaching out for her wrist to stop her.  “Please.” Don’t scold them.  He knew he was in the wrong, but he couldn’t let his brothers be punished for his poor judgement.

For the first time since the hangar, Grandma softened.  “I think they’re punishing themselves enough,” she assured him, before stepping back towards him and gently cupping his cheek with her hand.  “It would help everyone if you looked out for yourself like you do your brothers, Scott.”  He blinked at her, not quite comprehending her point – it was his responsibility to look after his brothers – and she gave him an almost sad smile before leaving the room.

His hand, no longer holding her wrist, fell to his side limply.

Despite everything, he found weariness creeping up on him.  It was gone two in the morning, the day had been a disaster from beginning to end, and by the time two figures slinked back into the room, a third flickering into view, he was fast asleep.

Scott had been grounded many times in his life, for a wide variety of reasons, but being grounded thanks to a broken rib was one of the most frustrating.  The combination of painkillers and rest meant that after two weeks he felt perfectly fit, but every time he tried to reinstate himself on active duty his brothers dragged him straight back to the infirmary for another scan to prove to him that just because he didn’t feel it didn’t mean the rib wasn’t still broken.

At least his brief spat with his brothers had come to an end; as he’d predicted, a night to sleep on it and the whole thing was water under the bridge, proven by a stretchy toy sat on the table by a tray of breakfast when he’d woken up. Conversations had been had with all of his brothers, including Alan despite the youngest not being directly involved in either rescue, apologies offered and accepted, and everything had returned to normal.

Normal except for the presence of the Mechanic in their home.  The man kept himself to himself, rarely seen outside of Brains’ lab, and never without Brains himself, but while intellectually Scott knew he’d been used by the Hood and genuinely wanted to fix his mistakes, he couldn’t forget Thunderbird Two crashing to the ground, Thunderbird Four torn in half and Thunderbird Three locked in a deadly battle – let alone the TV-21’s fate.

He knew they needed the Mechanic’s help, he knew that the Mechanic hadn’t once done anything to any of them since the Hood’s control had been removed, he knew Kayo owed her life to him after the mess that had been their visit to the Hex.  That didn’t mean he trusted the man, and ordinarily that wouldn’t have been a problem.  He’d have buried himself in rescues, kept his brothers away from the man and trusted Brains and MAX to keep an eye on him.

Unfortunately, Scott was banned from not just rescues, but leaving the villa at all until his ribs were fully healed, and he’d never done well at being cooped up, even without being in constant close proximity to a man who had almost killed three of his brothers.  With nothing else to do, he found himself growing more and more agitated about the entire situation – being grounded, the T-Drive still being built so Dad was still stuck there waiting in the Oort Cloud, close proximity with the Mechanic – and his temper quickly latched on to the obvious target.

It was honestly a surprise it took five weeks for it to come to a head, the Mechanic’s patience with him running out at the same time his inner frustrations exploded, leaving an uncharacteristically bold Brains to intervene.  If not for Virgil and Kayo’s timely interruption, Scott had no idea how that confrontation would have ended.

On a surprising upside, it got him off the island, although it rankled a bit when Kayo eased herself into the co-pilot’s chair and he was reminded that technically he was still grounded and only along for the ride.  Considering the nature of the mission, it was obvious that he was only along as an extra pair of eyes.

Painkillers stashed in baldric at Virgil’s insistence – while he didn’t need them much anymore, occasional flare-ups happened and on a mission was a likely time for one to occur – he reluctantly slumped into Alan’s usual seat.

“So what exactly are we looking for?” he asked.

“Dr. Furnier got bitten by a Creeping Banana spider and the drone delivering the antivenom’s been lost,” Kayo leaned back to tell him.  “We’ve got both the co-ordinates of Dr. Furnier’s position and the last known location of the drone, so Virgil’s going to drop me off in a pod to look for the drone while he heads to Dr. Furnier’s location to see what he can do.”

“What am I doing?”

“Your choice, big brother,” Virgil informed him cheerily.  “But if you do anything to worsen your ribs I’m grounding you for even longer.” Scott knew better than to consider that an empty threat, and also knew that Virgil was hoping against hope that he’d stay in Thunderbird Two like a good technically-still-grounded person. He also knew that Virgil knew his hope was unlikely to happen.

“I’ll go with Kayo,” he decided, and chose to ignore the eyerolls he got from his siblings.  “We should find it faster with two people looking.”

“F.A.B.,” Kayo agreed. “But I’m still piloting.”

Scott rolled his eyes but decided that battle wasn’t worth fighting.

“Remember, we’re on a time limit,” Virgil informed them.  “Dr. Furnier needs that antidote as soon as possible or he’ll die – and if either of you get yourselves bitten I’ll murder you myself, got it?  There’s only enough antidote for one person.”

“I’ll make sure Scott’s careful,” Kayo promised, ignoring his hey!  Virgil gave a chuckle in return.

“You, too, Kayo,” he cautioned.

“I’m always careful,” she scoffed.  If Scott didn’t know her, he’d think she was offended at the accusation, but there was a glimmer of a smile on her face as she said it.  No, his siblings were teasing each other – and him.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” he chimed in, and they both had the audacity to laugh at him.

“Joking aside, time is of the essence,” Virgil reminded them.  “We’ll be at the drone’s last known position in a few minutes so you’d better get that pod set up.”

“F.A.B.,” they chorused, both releasing their safety belts to stand up.

“And Scott?”

“Hmm?”

“Take it easy, okay?” There was no teasing in Virgil’s voice any more, just a quiet yet sincere plea.

“I’ll do my best,” he promised, equally sincere.  He couldn’t swear he would, not when there was always a risk on rescues, even one as seemingly-simple as this one, but he could promise to try and he knew that was what Virgil was asking.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Kayo added, echoing their joking from earlier but now equally as serious as them.  “Come on, Scott.”

Perfectly aware that he’d been nudged out of his role of commander and into Alan’s usual role of lowest-ranking operative, he followed her into the module as she set up a dragonfly pod – and accidentally revealed her fear of an insect they might encounter. Whether it was a true accident or an attempt to distract him from the fact that she was the one headed for the pilot’s seat he wasn’t entirely sure, but the idea that Kayo had arachnophobia had never occurred to him before.  She seemed far too feisty to be afraid of any spiders.

Virgil gave them a brief warning before there was the distinctive noise of the module being released.  Unlike a Thunderbird Four drop they were only lowered slowly until the door could open and Kayo directed the pod to pounce out into the air.

Dragonfly Pods were much more comfortable when you were sat in one of the designated seats, rather than clinging to the outside by the tips of your fingers.  Scott didn’t let himself think about that too hard, instead focusing on his scanner for locating the drone in question.  As Virgil had said, it wasn’t far from where they were, but even their smaller wingspan wasn’t enough to get them below the treetops.

He spied a bare tree that looked sturdy enough and directed Kayo down to it, already making plans to climb down and see some action.  Yes, he’d promised to be careful, but he’d been climbing trees his entire life.  He could handle that with a five week healed rib.

It turned out that he didn’t need to convince Kayo to let him out, because by the time he’d finished his initial reasoning the tree had decided it didn’t like being landed on by a giant mechanical bug and dropped them all the way to the jungle floor.

Ouch.

The impact jarred his rib uncomfortably and he couldn’t quite swallow the gasp of pain.

“Scott, are you okay?” Kayo asked, her voice full of concern.  She twisted in her seat to look back at him, eyes wide, and he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring grin.

“I’m all good,” he promised, pushing up his harness.  “How’s the pod?”  The roof lifted up and he jumped out onto an extended leg as she ran diagnostics. Thankfully, they’d only lost the wings and it was otherwise still functional.  After his confrontation with Brains and the Mechanic, he really didn’t want to have to face the engineers with another destroyed pod – especially not Brains.

Even more thankfully, they’d found the drone, although typically it was now up near the top of the same tree that had just dropped them all the way to the floor and now they had to climb up.   Kayo’s challenge of a climbing told him that she was reassured his rib hadn’t worsened in the crash, which he was grateful for.  He was less grateful for the fact that he’d lost said race.  True, time was of the essence, and his rib was twinging so he was far slower than usual, but that didn’t do much to soothe his pride when she dropped down from ahead of him to climb along the branch in question.

He hung back by the trunk. The tree had already proven that it was all too willing to drop them down, and he was really tempting fate by being up there with a healing rib as it was.  Kayo was lighter and also more agile – the branch was less likely to collapse under her weight, and he was ready with a helping hand in case she had to beat a hasty retreat.

Until a leaf – a leaf, of all things – settled on top of the drone and the tree decided enough was enough.  Torn between darting for the security of the trunk and getting to Kayo, he didn’t manage to get back in time before the entire branch parted company with the tree, dropping them straight into the water.

Ouch.  It wasn’t quite as bad as being dropped back onto the ground, which would have certainly thrown him straight back in the infirmary with his sister for company, but it still hurt.  With the combination of the sharp pain and the strong current of the stream, he definitely fell short of Gordon’s minimum requirements for water competence, and it was luck more than skill that found him clinging to the branch again as they were spat out at the top of a waterfall.

Well, he was.  Kayo ended up halfway down the waterfall, clinging to the edge of the very rotten branch.  Scott was hyper conscious of the long drop if she lost her grip – or it broke.  The pain in his ribs wasn’t enough to stop him from moving to help her when her attempt to climb back up ended in her falling further.  It certainly wasn’t enough to stop him going straight for his grapple when it broke as he’d feared, aiming and shooting at his sister for her to catch.

He wasn’t suicidal enough to call Kayo heavy, and she certainly didn’t rate as such compared to half the people he’d rescued, but the sudden jerk as his arms and braced chest took the entirety of her weight did nothing to help the pain lancing through his chest again.  Virgil and Grandma were going to kill him for this, even if it wasn’t really his fault.

Speaking of Virgil, his brother’s sudden reminder about their time limit, while no doubt necessary on his end, could hardly have come at a worse time as Scott realised his lunge to catch Kayo, while successful, had put him over the edge of the outcrop the branch was balancing on.  Even if his chest wasn’t in pain, he wasn’t sure he’d have made it back without it falling – physics was still physics, as John liked to comment.  As it was, both his and Kayo’s survival relied on his core strength keeping him balanced while also not dropping his sister.

Ordinarily, that would have been a strain, but doable.  Now, it was agony, and he needed a solution sooner rather than later, which Kayo thankfully found in the form of a ledge in the cliff.  Getting her there was more of a challenge, and by the time she managed to cling on more than a few grunts of pain had passed his lips.  She didn’t comment on it, saving her breath for more immediate concerns like summoning their pod – since when was it coded to respond to ‘here boy’? – but he knew she heard them.

As he watched the pod clamber down the cliff edge, he made the mistake of thinking the worst was over. Kayo could secure the line to the pod, he could secure the other end to the outcrop, and then it would be a case of ziplining across.  His ribs wouldn’t like it, but they’d manage.  The tree branch had other ideas, overbalancing despite his best efforts and pitching him down the waterfall.

It was purely instinct that had him still clinging to his grapple, arms wrenching sharply from his own weight – greater than Kayo’s – as he fell, trusting Kayo to do something to stop his fall.  He couldn’t see what she’d done, exactly, but when he realised he was swinging – fast – towards the cliff face, he assumed she’d found something to hook her end of the cable onto.

The impact, mostly absorbed by his legs, had him crying out in pain as his ribs heaved.

“Scott!” Kayo yelled, and as he hung limply from his arms, fingers locked around the grapple, he looked up to see her head poking out from the ledge, looking down at him worriedly.

“I’m okay,” he wheezed, hoping he was imagining the tremble in his arms.  Calling on his core muscles again – which after five weeks of minimal use were not appreciating the sudden work out either – he managed to raise his feet to connect with the cliff again, knowing the best way was to walk up.  Knowing that Kayo would have secured his line, he used the grapple to shorten the cable, pulling himself up until he managed to reach the ledge.

Kayo pulled him up as soon as he was in arms’ reach, helping him clamber up next to her, where he paused, using dismantling his grapple as an excuse.  From the narrowing of her eyes, she wasn’t convinced.

“Scott, I know we’re on a time limit, but on a scale of one to ten how much worse are your ribs after that?” she asked, rummaging around in the pod.

“Maybe a three?” he hedged, stowing his grapple pack back in his baldric and replacing the grapple itself at his hip before pulling himself to his feet with the help of a nearby pod leg.

“On what, the Gordon Scale?” she asked sharply, clearly disbelieving.  He rolled his eyes.

“On the Gordon Scale it wouldn’t even register,” he retorted.  “But like you said, we’re on a time limit so let’s move.”  His attempts to get into the pod were foiled by her turning around and stepping right up to him, nimble fingers darting into the baldric pouch containing the painkillers.

“Take them,” she ordered, a bottle of water thrust at him alongside the pills.  Realising it would do more harm than good to both the mission and his body not to, he obeyed, popping back the medicine with a swig of water while Kayo carefully manoeuvred the pod into a position where they could more easily scramble inside.  “You first.” She knelt down and cupped her hands, giving him a step to use.  Normally he wouldn’t need the help, but he’d already suffered enough damage on a supposedly harmless mission and wasn’t interested in worsening the lecture he was due for.  With a grunt that was half effort and half painkillers still kicking in, he accepted the boost, settling in the passenger seat as comfortably as he could and stowing the water bottle as she clambered into the driver’s seat once more.

Travelling down cliff faces head first was always an interesting experience.  With the pod’s wings gone, they were at the mercy of its grips and gravity, and Scott tried not to let himself lean too heavily into the harness holding him in place with minimal success.  During their descent, the painkillers kicked in properly and the pain in his ribs was finally dulled by the time he spotted the damaged, grounded drone on the opposite side of the stream.

Kayo jumped out and hopped across with a determined aura.  He watched her go before remembering that he should probably be helping, climbing out and following her at a slightly slower pace – which gave him a front row seat to the thing neatly evading her attempt to grab it, and a sinking feeling.

Earlier, he’d wished for his jetpack.  Now, he wished for his own Thunderbird, and more specifically her drones.  It had taken a combination of them to capture the camera drone on the mountainside, and despite his and Kayo’s best attempts – Kayo’s better than his; painkillers dulled the pain but he was still aware he couldn’t lunge and dive for it the way he ordinarily would – it danced just out of reach before eventually settling on a branch.  Even if they dared climb another tree in this jungle, by the time they got there it would just take off again.

Scott had always despised the kids who thought it was funny to throw stones at animals, and in turn had found it karma whenever the cornered animal eventually fought back, but as the drone wandered from side to side – he agreed with Kayo’s assessment that it was taunting them – and he caught sight of some loose stones on the ground, he wondered if that was the answer.  It wasn’t like the thing was actually an animal, after all.

When it came to him and Kayo, their marksmanship was pretty equal.  However, in their current conditions, Kayo was far more mobile than him and had a much better shot of catching it if – hopefully when – it decided to attack him, so Scott unanimously selected himself as the bait. Even though he was fairly certain overarm throwing was another thing he probably shouldn’t be doing.  The painkillers kept the worst of his body’s protests at bay, but the grunts he let out weren’t entirely down to exertion. Kayo eyed him disapprovingly as she checked in with Virgil, letting him know about the delay.

Just like the poor cornered animals, the drone took its sweet time deciding it had had enough of stones being pelted its way; Scott’s hastily scavenged ammunition was running low by the time it chirped angry-robot noises at him and Kayo ducked behind a rock, out of side as the small machine divebombed him.  It was small and lightweight enough that chances were it wouldn’t do much damage if it actually collided with him – at least, if his ribs were intact – but thankfully he didn’t have to test that hypothesis as Kayo’s aim was true.

Unfortunately, it appeared the drone could lift a fair amount of weight, and Kayo found herself being carried around as she fought to find the power switch.  Scott should have been able to catch her with ease – it was hardly the first time he’d caught someone dangling precariously from a rope or similar – but he hadn’t been this physically active since the trash mine, and his body decided that now Kayo had hold of the drone, adrenaline was no longer a requirement, leaving him feeling suddenly quite tired.  Thankfully, Kayo proved to not need his help, powering down the frustrating little drone and wrestling the antidote away from it.

He had a brief moment of panic about how long it had taken them, and how they’d get all the way to Dr. Furnier’s base with a wingless pod fast enough, when familiar VTOLs sounded overhead.  He grinned in relief as Thunderbird Two came into view, lowering until it was possible for Kayo to grapple her way up into the module, antidote in hand, and run for the medbay and their patient.

Far more tired than he was happy with, Scott scooped up the deactivated drone made his way back to the pod, settling in the driver’s seat to nudge it directly underneath the bay doors and remotely engaging one of Thunderbird Two’s high tensile cables to latch on to the pod in question, drawing it – and by extension, him – up inside the bay.  By the time he made it to the medbay, a man who had to have been Dr. Furnier was sitting up and talking, clearly reacting well to the antivenom that had given them so many problems.

Satisfied with a rescue – finally – well done, he made to put down the drone by a sample jar, only to realise it was carelessly lying on its side with the lid off.  Virgil was never that careless, and the panic on his brother’s face, compounded by the cry of “the spider” from the expert told him that Virgil’s adventure hadn’t been entirely smooth either.

And that there was a spider, presumably the same one responsible for the whole mess in the first place, loose on Thunderbird Two.  He knew for a fact they didn’t have any more of the antivenom – if they did, Virgil would have used it rather than waiting for them – and the hospital didn’t have any in stock either.  That was not good, and he froze at the command not to move, seeing Virgil do the same.

Kayo did not freeze, instead crouching down and bobbing back up a moment later with a large and vibrantly coloured spider with somewhat intimidating fangs in a clear specimen box. From Virgil and Dr. Furnier’s reactions, that meant crisis averted, although Scott couldn’t help casting a suspicious eye over the rest of the medbay to make sure there hadn’t been more than one.  Gordon would complain about messing up ecosystems if they brought any back to the island, and he didn’t think he could live with the knowledge there was a spider that deadly in the same home his brothers lived.

No sign of webbing, and no more bright orange blobs of spider, had him reassured and he remembered as Virgil relocated to the cockpit to get their passenger to Rio’s hospital, just to be on the safe side, that he’d thought Kayo was afraid of spiders. Despite everything that had happened, and perhaps because of the lecture he knew was coming his way, his curiosity was piqued over what insect could possibly have her so afraid.

That it was butterflies gave him a much-needed laugh – and part of him wondered if it really was butterflies or if that was her intention, although he couldn’t see any of her usual tells for lying – and also successfully distracted Virgil long enough for them to get to the hospital and drop off Dr. Furnier, who seemed delighted to be safe and well.  Not an unusual reaction for someone they’d just saved, and Scott once again felt that warm happy glow he never told his brothers about for a job well done.  It had been a while since the last one – neither the trash mine or the following Cornwall mine had ended on a positive note, despite the rescues being a success.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he looked around to see brown eyes surveying him intently.

“Kayo said you had to take the painkillers,” Virgil observed, because of course his sister had run straight to Virgil with that bit of information.  “Let me see.”

“It’s fine,” he protested. “Just a precaution, that’s all.”

“A precaution after our pod crashed, we fell out of a tree – twice – got tossed around underwater and then spat over the edge of a waterfall and had to climb up a cliff?” Kayo asked innocently.

“Hey, that happened to you, too!” Scott protested, over Virgil’s horrified what.

“Both of you sit down and let me have a look at you,” their brother demanded.  “What happened to this being a simple search and rescue?”

“Someone jinxed it by calling it ‘simple’?” Scott offered, making a dash for the co-pilot’s chair and beating Kayo to it by pure virtue of already having been closest.  Kayo glowered but settled in the chair behind him.

Virgil growled, although whether it was at his words or their antics, Scott wasn’t sure.  Doing up the safety belt so there was one more reason not to turf him out of his victory seat, he sat back and let Virgil run the medical scanner over him.  The events of the trash mine and Grandma’s subsequent scolding were still too recent for him to kick up his usual fuss, even though he feared his recovery had taken a major set-back.

The scan flagging up a red in amongst the various ambers he knew had to be bruises from the multiple falls was most unwelcome.

“Kayo I thought you said you would keep an eye on him?” Virgil demanded.  Behind him, Kayo sighed.

“I did!” she protested. “He stayed in the back of the pod, didn’t do anything strenuous except throw some rocks and climb a cliff face – which needed to be done, by the way – and was the most hands off I think I’ve ever seen him on a rescue.  We just got unlucky.  A lot.”

“Well that bad luck’s just landed Scott at least another three weeks of grounding,” Virgil grumbled, and Scott groaned.  “It might be more.”

“More?” Scott whined. “I only came out on this mission because you asked.”  And because he’d been going stir-crazy in the house, so his family had probably been looking for an excuse to get him out of it.  “I didn’t even know about it until you came looking for me!”

“I know,” Virgil sighed, looking and sounding apologetic as he put a hand on his shoulder.  “I’m sorry, this wasn’t supposed to have any risk; I would never have brought you along if I’d known this would happen.”

Scott looked up at him, his brother’s brown eyes once again full of guilt, and pulled a small smile onto his face that he hoped was reassuring.

“I know,” he said, covering the warm hand with his own.  “I’m sorry, it wasn’t your fault.  I should have stayed on Thunderbird Two like you wanted.”

Virgil gave a rue smile. “I’m glad you didn’t; I almost didn’t notice the spider, and considering how today went, you’d probably have been bitten if you’d also stayed.”

Scott chuckled.  “Yeah, that would’ve been bad,” he agreed.  “That would’ve been really- look out!”

He shoved Virgil to the side, getting just enough purchase to catch his younger brother off guard and force him to stumble a step away.  The bright orange blob of spider he’d seen at the last second descending from the cockpit ceiling missed Virgil by scant inches, but instead landed on Scott’s outstretched arm.

He froze, holding his breath and hoping – really hoping – that he wasn’t about to find out if those dangerous looking fangs could get through neoprene.

“Scott!”  Kayo and Virgil both moved, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the spider regarding his arm to see what they were doing. They didn’t keep sample jars in the cockpit – there was no need to – but he heard a locker opening as one of his siblings presumably hunted for something to trap it with.

Huh, its legs were striped with black and its body was actually really quite hairy.  Scott hadn’t noticed that with the previous one he’d seen, and wasn’t entirely certain now was the best time to register that, either. Not when it reared suddenly, fangs on full display, and stabbed down at his uniform.

For a moment he thought it was okay, that the neoprene had been tougher than the fangs, but then he felt it.

Two tiny, needle-like pinpricks.

Uh oh.

“Scott!”

next...

[pinksh00tingstars]

So I need closure so I've compiled relationship highlights from the show, from Kang Tae's POV vaguely prettified+featuring maybe some of my own addition+context that was not known to us when we watched it (if any) in text form and then I can live and let go of this show.

1. He's just annoyed when he sees her. After all, who smokes on hospital grounds. So when he goes to her to tell her she can't smoke here, his coffee cup still in his hand and she looks at him, he doesn't expect it- the memory her expression and demeanor combined trigger. It's not her. He thinks it so hard, he half expects her to respond but she just puts out her cigarette in his cup talking about fate and walks away. It's not her.

Well, turns out it is her. He's actively tried not to seek her out and when his brother had developed a liking for her books he hadn't done anything to stop him because it had felt like cheating on his promise to run away from her because he still got to keep some part of her. He's never read any of them, it feels like reaching for too much of the non-existent something between them, but her presence, even by proxy through the books is something. He's well aware of the burden the circumstances of their meeting has put on them. Even as a child he knew he'd never really be able to get Sang Tae's forgiveness because he's never had the courage to ask him for it. His best case would have been one where his brother simply forgets it. So he's in the hospital, looking for a suicidal, possibly dangerous patient when he meets her again and she stabs him in the hand, he's sure of it. It's Ko Moon Young. Not a doubt in his mind.

His brother insisted on an autograph. He's practically on his way to the hospital when he hears about Ko Moon Young's presence but Kang Tae stops him because she's a loose canon and she's never held back from firing at anyone even if she's firing on a whim. It's for his brother's well being, Kang Tae rationalizes but some corner of his brain just whispers I'm not sharing her. He isn't proud of it.

2. It's categorically a bad decision, leaving his brother alone in the queue to see her and when disaster strikes and his brother has a meltdown in the crowd, Kang Tae is there as soon as he can and he's there to be strong for the both of them. It's something he's used to and fully capable of doing. Then she's there, loudly demanding justice for his brother, taking the heat for him. It's terrifying. It's easier to do it alone and not expect any help, Kang Tae thinks as he tries to swat the memory of her saving him away from his mind.

It would've been easier to not have stuck around and seen the impact her intervention for him had on her. She's non-plussed by the skeevy journalist's jabs until he runs his mouth about her mother. He's already between them holding her back, preventing her from making it worse for herself.

When he teaches her the butterfly hug method, he does it simply because he's professionally in a position to help. It has nothing to do with her. But when she turns herself right back around pulls him closer, telling him trauma should be dealt with head on, his breath hitches.

3. He's aware that he has to move, and honestly, it feels exhausting but it's something he has to do. When his brother doesn't seem to have any qualms about moving back to their hometown, he thinks, it's not a bad idea. Besides, he thinks there's an advantage to putting as much distance between them as possible. She's unpredictable and a force of nature he can't match, won't match.

So he moves and does the motions of unpacking, resettling and going to work. In fact her absence is so much more familiar than her presence to him he's comfortable with it. He goes to work and he's fine because his brother is happy to be free of the butterflies. He expects it to be peaceful. It's a tiny town in the middle of nowhere and it's pleasant when the sea breeze hits him when he takes his breaks. In all honesty, he likes it here. He doesn't yet dare to call it home because he knows he'll move soon enough anyway or even indulge in the nostalgia of being from here. He's comfortable.

As if he's cursed his own luck, that very night she shows up at the hospital. Something about being fated occurs to him before he pushes the thought away immediately. He blames her for putting the thought in his head.

4. She's teaching a class here. It's just once a week, he thinks. His routine is not so fragile that it can't withstand her, he thinks. It's chaos soon enough. She's run away with a patient and he tries to stop her only for her to speed away and he swears she's just doing this to spite him.

Maybe there's nuance to her yet, he thinks. As he watches the Assemblyman's son dance around the stage and he recognizes it immediately. What the Assemblyman's son is craving, reaching so desperately for isn't just attention. That's skin deep. He's just looking for some version of happy. Kang Tae wonders what it's like to touch it. A version of happy.

He would've dismissed it to her having given this man the one gift he really needed as an outcome of simply sowing in his life the seeds of disorder but she looks at him knowingly and smiles. She knew. He wonders if she's made a habit of saving people. Should I just play with you? He wonders if he even can. If it's an option he's ever had. Would it be nice?

5. I hate spring flowers he admits. It's not what he craves but it's all he can share with her right now. It's enough. They're in a convenience store and Lee Sang In warns him- she'll eat you up alive. He's reminded of her fingers running up his body. Steeling himself, he goes back into the store and she's clearly not a fan of his choice for where they'd "share a meal". It's amusing.

He's partly just making small talk, partly curious and partly seeking permission, he thinks when he asks her about her book. She's not aware of his weird cheat to hold on to some part of her and he thinks maybe if she just tells him herself it's not reaching for it, the non-existent something he's held close for some time now. You should read it. He doesn't really know how that applies in his complex self imposed framework. It's annoying and he just rebuffs her I'm too old for fairy tales.

It never goes the way he expects with her. Because I can see that you want to be loved. It's so completely disarming. Her hands run through his hair and he's never felt so seen.

6. She won't walk her father. There's more to it, he can tell, but she hasn't volunteered the information to him. He knows enough about painful memories with parents to not pry. He back off. Heads to work and she demands he walk with her instead. She's throwing a fit and he's not engaging with her. So he walks away and he's not even bothered until she yells at him. I love you. It's powerful even though he knows there's no intent to it. She doesn't mean it. So he walks it off.

7. He sees her again with his brother. He's already raging from the interaction with the Assemblyman and he's trying his best to suppress it but she's actively gone against his wishes to leave his brother alone. So he pulls her aside to tell her to leave his brother alone but she spots the mark on his cheek and is immediately defensive. For him. He just wanted her to leave him alone. He knows he can't have this in his life. He's not going to play this game with hope and trust and he's definitely not playing it with her. You're like an empty can. He can see the hurt in her face as she looks back up at him silently. He hates it. But maybe she'll stay away now.

8. It was curiosity that got the best of him. Zombie kid is definitely set to a harsh backdrop and he doesn't really think he can predict where it's going. Doesn't think he'll relate to any of it until he reads the ending. He's so struck by it. He's craved warmth his whole damn life. He can practically see his mom turning away from him.

So when he goes downstairs and Jae Su tells him about how her father tried to kill her, the image of her walking along the road while he'd taken the bus hits him. What if she didn't have anyone looking for her? What if she had been looking for warmth from her father? He doesn't really think it through, he just runs out on instinct looking for her in the night.

9. He finds her in the rain and it feels...momentous, meaningful even. In that moment, as she falls into him, he doesn't think of what he can and can't do for the first time.

He ends up hiding her in his room. This feels stolen, like a moment he never had the rights to but has somehow accessed and so when she keeps rolling over onto him that night, he puts her in a corner to stop himself more than her. We're like Romeo and Juliet. It's a petulant thought but he believes it still. Him and her, they were ill fated too. He can't have any of this.

10. Jae Su asks him if he likes her. He could've lied. He should've just said no but he can't bring himself to. So he deflects but Jae Su is so sharp about these things. He reminds him of the knife she'd put in his hand the first time they met. It's a slip up, in all honesty, the smile that creeps onto his face at the memory. He's growing forgetful of himself. Of his brother, of the butterflies. He remembers her though.

11. Of all the terrible ideas, his brother would not be living with her. He's almost tempted. A version of them as a family manifests itself in his mind unprompted and he's exhausted of putting these invasive thoughts away. He's trying his best to reason with his brother that it isn't an option but his brother will not listen. So he yells and throws the contract away only for his brother to get furious at him. It hurts. It hurts so much as his brother keeps hitting him not realizing how hard he's hitting and Kang Tae doesn't expect it to stop anytime soon until she holds his brother's hand over him, stopping it in it's path. He's too beaten down to do anything about it. Moon Sang Tae belongs to Moon Sang Tae. He does. Kang Tae's always been the one trying to be owned by Sang Tae. Anything to make up for it. Anything for whatever adjacent to forgiveness he's got. But it's so difficult sometimes. She offers him her hand to get back up and he wishes she'd stop offering him help. It's not going to last and he doesn't want to start expecting it. So he turns away from her and walks home.

12. He schools himself to not get attached. He's excellent at it, but he walks into her house with their stuff and Sang Tae apologizes instantly and suddenly it feels like home. His previous ambition forgotten, he just settles his brother and himself into the house. The next morning he's set up breakfast while his brother cleans the house. Moon Young is all but shocked at it. He wonders if she likes it, the house like this. I want a lot. He thinks it's cute.

13. He's never seen her look like that. Mrs. Kang is talking to her in hushed tones but he can hear her anyway. She's claiming to be her mother. And she looks... vulnerable. Is it really you? He should've stopped it earlier. He can hear the hope in her voice. So he splits them up and takes Mrs. Kang away. He was going to go find her when Lee Sang In asks to speak to him. I'm her man. So stop taking up my spot.

He has no right to feel the jealousy that tightens his jaw. He wants to say very different words but he can't dare to say them yet. So instead he says a different truth. I don't want to. I won't move aside. It feels like fighting for her somehow and he's going to keep doing it as long as he can.

14. She's shut them out. She doesn't come down for dinner and he sees she hasn't touched the food he left her. He gives her the space she needs. He isn't sure they're close enough for him to ask her to let him in. So he takes on the passive role of waiting for her to let him in. Like Bluebeard needed, he thinks with a fondness.

He can't sleep. He's worried about her and she's shutting him out and he's driving himself up a wall. Until he thinks he hears her crying. He's on his feet inching towards her room, not sure if he's allowed to but opening her door anyway. He recognizes it instantly. She's having a night terror, possibly sleep paralysis and he runs to her shaking her awake as gently as he can. Go away right now. She's inconsolable, yelling at him terrified of something neither of them can see right now but she's clinging to his shirt for dear life. He's never had the strength to deny her when she was like this. Vulnerable and terrified. So he holds her close and promises he'll stay. He means it.

15. He wakes up to a Moon Young he's much more familiar with. Shut off and defensive and she asks him what he's doing there. He takes the day off for her. It's a tiny fraction of his life he's reclaiming for himself and it feels stolen but he doesn't care. He drops his brother at the bus stop and returns to find Sang In trying to pull her off a post on the stairs. He's uncharacteristically upset and the moment she requests it, he moves to throw Sang In out. She won't take medicine so he suggests fresh air to remedy her mood. He apologizes for calling her an empty can. She's let his outburst colour her view of herself and he immediately needs to set it right.

Their "date", he doesn't call it that, she does, he justifies, is eventful. She asks him difficult questions he doesn't really have answers for. Could he have dated her if he wasn't him?

16. He's emotionally exhausted from purging his resentment towards his mom and he's about to leave when he remembers Mang Tae. So with unsteady feet he embarks on a quest to find the doll before taking a cab to head home. She's demanding as always in her texts, telling him to come home rather than ask but it feels so familiar. Like they're something. And he replies and forgets in his drunkness as he tells her to wait.

She's on the stairs and he's not sure why she has chosen to sleep there. She snaps at him that he told her to wait. It's warm. The feeling of someone waiting for you. He simply smiles like a fool and offers her Mang Tae before she can entice him into drinking with her and crossing some line that he can't even see clearly when he's sober.

17. She's remarkably good at spotting people's leashes. At the baggage that traps them and she's got an extraordinary skill for setting people free. He's impressed, when he finally walks over to her looking at his brother's mural, he's really proud.

18. She's cut her hair and she looks messy and ruffled but she looks so happy when she runs down the stairs to greet him, he can only laugh. She's cut off her own leash, she says and he wonders how long she's had it on her. How long she's been aware of it. So he helps her make it presentable and when she says he's the only person allowed to touch her hair, he feels softly possessive. The fact that he's claiming back more and more of his life as his own when it's still indebted to his brother in lieu of forgiveness is forgotten. She smiles at him and it's stunning.

19. They're eating jjampong and he remembers that his mother never even got to eat a portion. It hits him so hard because he's so starved for memories where she was warm to him. She's always so sharp with these things and between her and his brother they have him laughing.

He's holding his umbrella over his brother s he walks zigzagging the the street. He's used to getting slightly wet until Moon Young yells for them to wait for her and suddenly he's shielded from the rain too.

20. He's jealous. He's starkly aware of it and he's annoyed that he's jealous and it's only a vicious cycle that exacerbates itself. He had meant to subtly alert the man to back off when he'd mentioned his hand on her waist and she just pulls it closer to her, her gaze back at him almost challenging. How many people is she fated to be with? He doesn't really begin to calm from it until he lets loose at Sang In. Once he's calmer, he wonders if he'd rather have her around once a week at the hospital than not. So when the opportunity presents itself, he asks for her classes to be reinstated but really it feels like some proxy for permission to be with her. Even if it was just once a week.

21. It was a fucking pen. She's been fawning over some pen not the man and before he can even start to feel the relief settle in she leans over and says he's prettier sending a shiver down his spine. She's lying on his lap drifting into sleep and he's gingerly getting used to the feel of it. She's always so alluringly close. He reaches out to hold her hand because he's wanted to all day. Until it feels wrong. He shouldn't be reaching for people he can't really hold.

22. She's so fucking pretty. It messes with his head as he watches her before he goes to work and when she asks him to come home early it feels so domestic he doesn't dare to do anything with the feeling but remember it. He's sitting during his break and all he can think about is her. He really must be going crazy. He's talking with the patient when he recognizes it, and get doesn't even dare to think the word love.

23. He snaps when it happens. She's doing the right thing, protecting a patient who needed help and he's heading their way quickly but not too quickly so as to not alarm the patients when the man suddenly hits Ko Moon Young. It makes contact hard enough to send her tumbling down and Kang Tae is running immediately. The man has his fist raised to hit her again when Kang Tae reaches him and he hits him with everything in him. He's furious enough for his ears to ring and he's raised his fist to hit him a second time as a nurse held him back. He can't think through it yet and shoves the nurse off of his arm and moves to punch him again. The patient he originally intended to attack begs him out of it. And he finally lets the man go. Are you okay? He's so worried when he picks her back up and it's the first time she yields vulnerability to him. No, it hurts.

He's in trouble. By all accounts, the head nurse fuck you Park Haeng Ja is furious. He might get sued. Or fired. But all he can think is he's broken past his impulse to not want her and it's so freeing. So when he runs to her and asks her to go on a trip with him, it's glorious when she smiles back at him.

24. He hadn't thought through the logistics. She makes him forget everything but them and he's terrified about not measuring his expectations. She says it feels like he's taming her. He's glad to have any meaningful impact on her, really. He keeps doing things he wouldn't have done because of her. She says he was magnificent. And he really feels magnificent. Because she's said it. He's been chasing this something between them that's sprouted into existence from the non existent state he's tried quite hard to keep in. It's instinctual, he leans towards her, seeking purchase on her lips and they're so, so close when the deer screeches in the woods. He's lost his nerve and backed away already. The moment is lost and he's sprinting away from her with a quick let's go tomorrow then.

25. She's terrified of the bridge. It's such a funny juxtaposition on Moon Young, who saves people from what they fear all the time masquerading as a witch. Her strength is so integral to who she is. But she does it anyway for him and it's warmth. So that night, as she jumps onto him and he deflects and tries to escape before he gives in to letting her sleep on his arm, running his fingers through her hair, he gives up. He's never had enough resistance to quit her anyway.

So he gets her flowers and a quick kiss and it feels like closure of something from so long ago because it is. As they're walking back, her holding the flowers she's finally accepted from him and him holding her hand, he really thinks they're fated.

26. It crashes down around him. His brother hasn't forgotten and he's not going to take lies or half truths and he's locked outside the room his brother is in waiting to be let in. Being with Moon Young is not an option. It never was and he's been a forgetful fool running after a pipe dream that shouldn't ever even have been his. So he tells her to leave his life, that this has been a mistake and none of his promises held water. He wants so badly to be able to reach forward and take her hand. A firecracker. A one time event. He's hurting her on purpose and he's half terrified that she'll genuinely walk away from him forever but he's so much more terrified that she'll stay and he won't be able to fix things with his brother ever.

That night his brother finally, finally forgives him. Moon Kang Tae belongs to Moon Sang Tae. He misses her. It hurts and it hits him in waves. He's looking at photos of them and says this is enough over and over and over but there's a lump in his throat that he's trying to breathe over and the whole damn apartment feels stuffy when he thinks of her. He's sitting outside and the sea breeze is pleasant and he thinks her absence hurts him so much more distinctly than her presence. God he misses her and as he sits in the open air, still letting the breeze wash over him, he thinks, he can't breathe.

27. He's sick all day. He knows it and he doesn't want to acknowledge it because it feels like the lack of her is physically making him ill and if he acknowledges it he'll have to acknowledge missing her. So he tries his best to work through it without interventions and ignores her texts and just wills the day to end. He can't keep himself from looking by the time his shift ends. So he goes through her texts, not still daring to reply and he's on his way out when he spots the nurse with the head injury. Park ok Ran attacked him and left saying something about it being a special day. His blood runs cold. What if? What if she's going to Moon Young. What if she got hurt while he wasn't there, while nobody was there because he's decided to leave her alone? And he's honestly terrified beyond articulation. And he's rushing into her car trying to call her.

The house is so fucking silent. He's burst into it yelling for her but is not patient enough to wait to see if she'll come out and he runs into her study only to spot blood. He can't even get her name out of his mouth without his voice breaking and because what if she was bleeding out somewhere in this massive fucking house? And he runs out to look for her in a different room, panic rising in his blood as she calls his name. She's here. And he's hugging her and asking her if she's okay until he spots the wound on her hand and she's barely started explaining how Park Ok Ran gave it to her. He's not quite settled yet and he's terrified she'll be back but he's passively aware he's yelling at her asking her where she is. He's rushing to find her immediately until she asks him if he came for Park Ok Ran or her.

He can see in her expression that she's convinced it was Park Ok Ran. And he reaches out to grab her hand that had been holding his just moments ago and he's looking for the words to explain himself when she pulls away from him and goes back upstairs. He waits a few moments, looking for the correct words but he couldn't really come up with any. He goes to her room anyway, reaching for a handkerchief to patch her wound but she's hurt and furious and she tells him that his words hurt so much more than this and he's terrified for a moment that he's broken them beyond repair. She's escalating, working herself up and he can see the hurt in her eyes and he just tells her to count to three. He's done this so many times. He's always used it to stop himself from doing things he might regret. So he counts with her. One. She says, fiery and still angry. Two. And she's mellowed already, calmer and he thinks, preparing for him to hurt her again. Three. He says with her. And he doesn't hesitate. Because he's sure he'll regret not doing this his whole life. She's the closest thing he's got to a potential for happiness and she's here and they're fated after all, he thinks. So he reaches out for her and kisses her with everything he's got. Stay with me. Please. And as she kisses him back, he feels it in the rush of her gasp against his lips as he pulls her up, he can breathe again.

28. When Sang Tae finally accepted her, he's ecstatic. He gets to stay with her without hurting his brother anymore and he's free, for the first time from his heavy, heavy life. Of course it catches up and he finds out her mother is the person who killed his. And he's upset and terrified of hurting her by telling her when he's already hurt her so much. He'll carry this for them all, he can do it, he convinces himself

She finds out and she's distraught. She blames herself, and he tries so hard to get her to stay, to not leave but the words don't come out and all he can say is please. Please don't go. She's out of his grasp anyway. She's out and she's gone and she cries in her room and he waits for her to let him back in. He confesses I forget everything when I'm with you. And he's never missed a person so badly while being so near to them. He's terrified she'll leave.

29. He remembers it, her holding him, crying, begging him to wake up. When he wakes and she tells him to leave and leave her alone again, he's already decided he's going to fight for them. But it still hurts when she says she wants him gone. It hurts a lot.

She isn't eating. He notices it with increasing concern and he wishes she'd just let them heal her too. He knows she can't live like that again even if she's willing to make the sacrifice for them. So he tells her Sang Tae's story and tries convincing her and yelling at her but she isn't responding. At least not correctly.

He watches her walk her house like a ghost but he's gonna follow his older brother's lead on this. He's going to win. So when he asks her to eat dinner and she just asks him when he's leaving, he ignores the fact that she's asking him to leave and lies about the water pipe. She doesn't buy it. But she leaves him alone. He finally gets her to eat the next day it's a multiple man mission but he's happy she's eaten.

30. He's following her. He wonders if this counts as an ambush if you live with the person anyway. She's apologizing to the tree he's dedicated to his mom and he promises the tree silently that he'll try as long as it takes. So when she moves to walk away again, he's clutching at straws, what about my injured hand, he asks and she apologizes. I love you. He's fairly sure that'll do it. But she looks at him and then walks away and all he can try is to say it again. It's not until much much later that it strikes him that she did the same to him once. He follows her home and he's still saying it to her. It feels like he's held back on saying it for so long that he doesn't even mind saying it so much. Particularly if it'll get her to stay. So her asks her if that's not it, what was it then and she snaps at him If you say I love you one more time I'll rip your mouth . And it's not much but it's a reaction that emboldens him. Do what to my mouth ? He asks boldly before kissing her. And she stills looking at him more surprise than malice. That's all the indicators he needs to pick her up and put her on the table. They're fated after all, he thinks. And leans forward chasing the ghost of a kiss between them. Until they're interrupted by the god damn cockblock of the year deer. He just yells at it instinctively and he realizes he sounds so much like Moon Young as they laugh. So he tells her he loves her one more time and finally, finally kisses her again.

This, Kang Tae thinks, makes it all worth it. When he wakes up the next morning, for the first time, he's holding Ko Moon Young and there's nothing stopping them from being together. He's happy.

[sleepyxcoffee]

@thewitchersecretsanta gift for @youkaineko !

Ultimately, this was all Master Varin’s fault.

It hadn’t, Vesemir explained, been mandatory for young witchers to hold a degree until 1990, when Master Varin had returned after spending six years obtaining a Bachelor’s in Chemistry whilst still doing all his… witchering. He had proclaimed the experience “eye opening” and “a good way to get to know humans” and some other bullshit Geralt didn’t fully understand.

Geralt had succeeded in evading the Trial of Uni, as he and Eskel had taken to calling it, for a grand total of two months after his Grasses, until Vesemir had all but scruffed him and dragged him to a computer with UCAS opened up. His only solace in the whole situation was that he and Eskel were applying to all the same universities.

Except then Eskel got a full scholarship to the University of St Andrews, which the trainers weren’t letting him pass up on, and Geralt… didn’t get a place at St Andrews.

Which was how Geralt had ended up at Edinburgh instead. It was still Scotland, at least, so it wasn’t that far from Kaer Morhen over on the Shetland Isles, or Eskel in St Andrews. It was a city, which was… less than desirable, but Geralt could work with that.

He could.

What he wasn’t so sure he could work with was the fucking disaster of a man he had ended up flatmates with. The others seemed alright - Shani and Priscilla gave Geralt his space, and didn’t bother him too much. They didn’t seem to mind that he was a witcher either.

Jaskier, on the other hand…

The best part was, Geralt hadn’t even met Jaskier in the flat. For the first half of his first semester, Room 4 in Flat 12 of College Wynd had remained blissfully unoccupied. Shani and Priscilla did their own thing - Shani was rarely in the flat anyway, being a medicine student with a ridiculously full schedule - and Priscilla spent most of her time doing her theatre society things. The girls were at least kind enough to not throw any parties in the flat, after the time Geralt had nearly murdered Priscilla with a glare for doing so.

No, Geralt met Jaskier outside the dean’s office, of all the possible places.

It was November, and Geralt had heard of some strange, possibly vampiric, activity occurring on the outskirts of Edinburgh, thanks to a contract for a witcher put up by the Metropolitan Police. Unfortunately, he was also the only fully trained Wolf witcher situated anywhere near Edinburgh, and he’d be damned if he let a passing Cat or Griffin or anyone hop in and take the kill. Remus had passed through last week, but he was all the way down in Yorkshire by the time the reports came in. The UK was large, and the Wolf School was only a hundred or so members strong. They didn’t have enough witchers to permanently station anyone in cities, their witchers instead roaming up and down the country.

Also unfortunately, Geralt had about five different assignments due the next week, but the police were getting antsy, nobody could find the stupid vampire, and nobody could even identify it. Geralt had wanted to just get up and leave to take the contract, but Vesemir insisted he had to go ask the dean for permission to miss his classes first, and also for an extension on his assignments, because Melitele knew Geralt might take a while.

So, much to his annoyance, Geralt had ended up sitting outside the dean’s office during one of his free periods, fidgeting and playing with his medallion and his hood pulled over his distinctly white hair, shadowing his cat-slitted eyes. Just because everyone knew he was a witcher didn’t mean he wanted to put himself on show.

Then a tall, slim man wearing a frankly ridiculous red raincoat over an even more ridiculous yellow crop top and absolutely horrifying high waisted jeans and incredibly impractical Ugg boots (it was Scotland, how were his boots not soaked through?) sat down next to Geralt.

“Hi,” he said cheerfully, in an obnoxiously posh accent. “I’m Jaskier.”

“Hmm.” Who named themselves Buttercup in another language?

Jaskier laughed. “Hmm. What an excellent name. I love how you just sit there and… brood.”

Geralt turned pointedly away from him.

“Come on, you can’t keep a man with…” Jaskier waved his hands wildly, “...a screwdriver in his pants waiting.”

That caught Geralt’s attention. “What?”

Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh, yeah. Say, what are you here for?”

“Absence request,” Geralt said shortly.

“Right, those, yeah,” Jaskier laughed again and sank down in his seat. “I’m uh - well, I may or may not have stabbed my flatmate with a screwdriver while I was putting together this thing from IKEA?”

Geralt stared at him.

Jaskier’s arms flailed again, and he made an odd sound. “He’s okay - unfortunately - he just ended up bleeding a little and started screaming and our RA walked in, and, yeah, I’m here now.”

There was a moment of silence. Geralt… didn’t know what to say to that. He settled for sinking further into his chair.

“...so, uh. What do you need leave permission for?”

“Job.”

Jaskier made an interested sound. “Ooh, cool! I should get myself one of those. What’s your job?”

“Killing monsters.”

“Huh?”

Geralt was saved from having to answer further when the dean opened his door. “Geralt Rivia!” he called. Geralt stood and pulled back his hood.

“Here,” he said gruffly.

Jaskier gasped and leapt to his feet. “Oh my god, I know you! White hair, yellow eyes - you’re that witcher! Jerald Rivia!” Geralt speed walked into the dean’s office. He gave Geralt a confused look, but stepped aside to let Geralt in anyway. “Jerald - hey, wait, that’s how you say your name, right - wait, don’t leave! Hang on! I’m sure you have a treasure trove of stories -”

The dean shut the door, and Geralt sighed in relief. “What was that all about?” the dean asked. Geralt shrugged. “Right. Well then, Geralt, what did you need to see me for?”

Once the dean had granted Geralt his leave with minimal fussing (scary witcher eyes worked wonders), Geralt brushed straight past Jaskier to return to his dorm room, despite Jaskier’s attempts to reach out to him. He had a vampire to track.

***

The vampire, as Geralt now knew two days later, was a katakan. And not just any katakan - an old, experienced katakan who had left Geralt sore, out of Black Blood, and highly toxic. The smarting in his leg told him Swallow or even White Raffard’s was probably called for, but the white hot throbbing of his veins told him White Honey was a much better idea.

Geralt groaned as he stumbled into the flat. Shani and Priscilla were, predictably, asleep - it was four in the morning, after all, but there was a third heartbeat coming from the kitchen. Instantly on high alert, Geralt kept one hand on his steel sword as he opened the kitchen door.

Dancing in front of the countertop was… Jaskier? What was the strange man from the dean’s office doing here? He was dressed in shorts and a loose T-shirt, and, humming, put a metal bowl in the microwave.

“Stop!” Geralt exclaimed. Jaskier yelped and dropped a fork - which had, God help him, been going into the bowl. “What are you doing?”

“Geralt! Is that any way to greet your new flatmate - sorry for getting your name wrong, by the way - hey, what are you doing -” Geralt shoved past Jaskier to yank the bowl out of the microwave and slam it onto the counter. It contained… what might have been mac and cheese. “What are you doing - you’re getting monster guts everywhere!”

“You can’t microwave metal,” Geralt snarled. “It’ll blow up.”

Jaskier blinked once. Twice. “Well. Ah. Thank you for letting me know - you’ve just saved our flat. A true hero. Say, what are you covered in?”

“Katakan.” Geralt stepped away from Jaskier and shrugged off his swords. Jaskier’s eyes trailed them curiously.

“Katakan. So, that’s, what, a type of necrophage?”

“Vampire. Their true form looks like a giant mutated bat but they can disguise themselves as humans, and their healing is slowest when the sun is highest. Violent. Nasty.”

“You don’t say,” Jaskier mumbled, eyeing Geralt thoughtfully. “And what about you? Why are your eyes all… black? Is that your witcher true form or something?”

Geralt… had nearly forgotten about that. He pulled out a White Honey from his belt pouch and chugged it. Immediately, the warmth spread through his veins, and he felt the toxins clear. “Witcher potions. Too much is toxic for even us.”

“Oh wow, your eyes are going back to gold.” Jaskier peered at him curiously, then made a face and leaned away. “You reek. You need a long hot shower. I refuse to live with that stench.”

Geralt’s thoughts came to a grinding halt. “You live here? Since when?”

Jaskier scratched his head awkwardly. “Since, well, yesterday. Because I stabbed Valdo Marx, who completely deserved it by the way. Unfortunately, he’s fine.”

...Geralt suddenly felt unreasonably worried for his safety.

He was pleased to learn, however, that the screwdriver stabbing asides, Jaskier proved to be a surprisingly good flatmate. Sure, he seemed to be completely nocturnal, but he was quiet enough at night and didn’t make a mess. He talked a lot, but after the first five times he tried to engage Geralt in conversation, he left Geralt pretty much alone. Having lived at Kaer Morhen, that was all Geralt could ask for. Jaskier even tried to arrange flat bonding sessions, which turned out surprisingly well and meant Geralt actually spoke to Priscilla and Shani, even though one session had resulted in Geralt needing to Aard the oven.

The story had Lambert and Eskel cackling when Geralt told it to them over the winter break. It was supper time, and the three were sitting together sawing at hard meat which was probably at least a year out of date with their dinner knives. Things never did go well when it was Gweld’s turn to cook. At least this time there were no magic mushrooms.

“How do you fuck up cookies that badly?” Lambert wheezed.

“You made bread explode once,” Eskel reminded him.

Lambert waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, but that was on purpose.”

Just thinking of the incident made Geralt groan. That had been interesting to explain to Vesemir, and Rennes had been distinctly displeased. Poor Lambert had spent the rest of the week waking up an hour before dawn to run laps in the frigid Shetland air.

“Compared to you, my university’s been fine,” Eskel said. “I haven’t had to take any contracts. Monsters don’t seem to like St Andrews.”

“The Trial of Uni is really fucking stupid,” Lambert grumbled. “The world already knows we’re freaks. Why rub it in our faces?”

“I don’t think that’s the point,” Eskel replied evenly. “Geralt?”

“Hmm.”

Eskel sighed. “Talkative as always. But really, Lambert, it’s not as bad as some people -” at this, Eskel threw a pointed look halfway across the Great Hall at Clovis, who even more pointedly ignored him - “make it seem.”

“It’s no worse than Kaer Morhen,” Geralt agreed. “Up for a round of Gwent?”

Naturally, Geralt won his round against Lambert, and then his round against Eskel, and Clovis, and Gweld, and Aubry, and Remus. He then promptly lost fifty pounds to Vesemir, but he at least had a few new cards, which was enough to please him. Unfortunately, Gwent had fallen out of fashion with humans sometime in the last century (the joys of having ancient instructors), so Geralt would have to wait until he met another witcher to play another round.

He returned to Edinburgh in high spirits. Aubry had offered to drive him and Eskel back to university, seeing as he planned on working his way down to Wales anyway. The car ride was long, but Geralt entertained himself with even more Gwent and bugging Eskel. Eskel returned what he got, and more than once Aubry had to remind them to not start sparring in the backseat of his car.

“I’ve had her for twenty years,” Aubry complained. “I refuse to lose her to a pair of rowdy green witchers.”

Unsurprisingly, Geralt was the first to return to his flat. The term didn’t start for another week, but witchers could hardly afford to lounge around all winter, what with the amount of monsters in Great Britain. Geralt didn’t have his own car, and so he was dependent on older witchers driving him back to university, seeing as he didn’t want to walk nearly four hundred miles.

The benefit of returning to university early, however, was that he had time to take on a contract. Someone had called Kaer Morhen just before he arrived to report “strange supernatural activity” in an abandoned flat. Geralt allowed himself a night’s rest, then set out to the apartment with his two swords.

It turned out to be a noonwraith, and that on its own would have been simple enough; noonwraiths were annoying little buggers, but they were manageable. No, the problem was when Geralt belatedly realised there was an alp in the basement.

The ensuing fight was hard and bloody. In the end, Geralt came out on top, but not without a wide range of injuries which left him on the ground wheezing. Eventually, he mustered the strength to take some potions and stagger back home, but not before texting Vesemir to let him know the contract was done. The contract giver would transfer money to Kaer Morhen, and Vesemir would send him his share. All in all, it was a clean system.

Geralt managed to stagger back to his flat. It was nighttime, and not many students had returned, meaning the streets were still relatively quiet. Those who did see him gave him a wide berth, murmuring and pointing, but Geralt ignored it. He just wanted to get home. A hot bath sounded excellent - then he could treat his wounds.

Unfortunately, Geralt discovered upon his return that someone else had arrived. He cursed his luck as he closed the door behind him. There was a suitcase in the front hall, and the kitchen door was propped open by a chair. Geralt could hear a man humming. Jaskier. Great.

Perhaps he could sneak past without Jaskier noticing - 

“Hello? Who’s there?” Jaskier called, and Geralt winced.

“Just me,” he called back.

“Ah! Geralt! How was your - Melitele’s tits, what the fuck happened to you?” Jaskier exclaimed. He dropped the piece of toast he had been holding and rushed to Geralt, hovering next to him. “Do you need the hospital? Should I call 999? I’m calling 999 -”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said forcefully. “I’m a witcher. I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Jaskier said fretfully. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call 999?” His hand hovered over the phone in his pocket.

“I’m sure. They don’t know shit about witchers.” Geralt started limping to the bath.

“Wait. Let me help stitch you back up, at least. I’ve got a first aid certificate.”

“Dunno what good that is,” Geralt grumbled, but he grabbed the first aid kit off the wall and threw it at Jaskier anyway. He stepped into the bathroom and stripped off his clothes and armour - he could deal with that later. Geralt stood under the spray of hot water, wincing as it ran over his wounds.

He decided to forego the soap and shampoo, instead gently scrubbing himself down to get rid of the blood and dirt. The noonwraith had been in that house for a long time, and with folks too afraid to go inside, it had become unbearably dusty. When Geralt came out of the bathroom, dry and dressed, he found Jaskier had set up the first aid materials on the dining table with a chair pulled up next to it.

“Sit down, Geralt,” Jaskier said, and Geralt did just that.

***

Jaskier was a quick study, and Geralt soon became grateful for his help, even though he refused to admit it. Sometimes, Shani, who was a med student, had to help with treating Geralt’s wounds, although she often complained he was better off going to A&E. Geralt reiterated that there wasn’t much A&E could do for him - his potions were enough.

Every week or so, Geralt would sit in the kitchen reading through his course work while Jaskier helped stitch him back up. He was chatty as ever, but at least he got things done.

“Come with me to open mic night, Geralt, Essi and I are performing,” Jaskier would say (and Geralt did attend open mic night, lurking in the corner), or “have you seen Professor Rejk’s new tie? It’s hideous!” (and no, Geralt had not, but he made a special point of paying attention to Professor Rejk the next time he saw him).

It was an easy relationship, one akin to the bond Geralt shared with Eskel, and yet completely different. Jaskier chattered nonstop, but he didn’t make Geralt talk, and he knew when to leave a question alone. It was companionable and comfortable, and for Geralt that was enough.

***

In March, a bug started spreading across campus. Geralt’s classes shrank in size as students and professors alike ended up bedridden with a horrible cold. He thought nothing of it - he was a witcher, after all, and witchers were functionally immune to human diseases.

Poor Jaskier, unfortunately, was only human, and he did manage to get sick. It all started when Priscilla caught the bug from Essi (who had caught the bug from Valdo, who had caught the bug from a music professor). Jaskier spent his free time caring for his friend, and by the time the week was up, Priscilla was good as new, and Jaskier was sneezing nonstop.

“You look terrible,” Geralt told him one morning when he walked into the kitchen for breakfast. Jaskier lifted his head to sneeze at Geralt, then set it down back against his arms. Geralt wrinkled his nose. “Disgusting,” he said as he pulled the egg carton out of the fridge. “Want breakfast?”

“Yes please,” Jaskier said, sounding very congested. “I don’t want to go to class.”

“Then don’t,” Geralt said simply. He took the frying pan out of a cupboard and set it on the hob, switching it on.

“You know what, maybe that’s not a bad idea.” Jaskier eyed the eggs wistfully. “Can I have scrambled eggs?”

“Hmm.” Geralt retrieved a bowl from the drying rack and cracked in several eggs, then whisked them. He added milk and salt to the bowl, and oil to the frying pan. Jaskier watched with hungry eyes as he cooked the eggs.

“Best roommate ever,” Jaskier declared as Geralt placed a plate in front of him. Geralt hummed and served up his own eggs.

“Where are Shani and Priscilla?”

“Morning run,” Jaskier said between mouthfuls of egg. The two ate in companionable silence, broken only by Jaskier’s coughs and sniffles.

“Go back to bed,” Geralt said when they finished eating. He gathered their plates and filled the sink up.

“Will you bring me tea?” Jaskier asked teasingly.

“Hmm.” Geralt put on the kettle, and Jaskier laughed in delight.

“You will! I knew you were a big softie all along!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Geralt said, hiding his smile. “Go back to bed.”

“I’ll be waiting for my tea,” Jaskier said in a sing-song voice. “Best flatmate in the world, bringing his invalid friend tea.”

“You’ve got a cold, not the plague,” Geralt grumbled, scrubbing their plates clean.

“You never know! Anyway, are you heading to class?”

“Hmm. I’ve got a contract after.” Putting the frying pan in the sink to soak, Geralt dumped a teabag and an unholy amount of sugar into a mug. He poured in hot water and passed the mug to Jaskier, who took it gratefully.

“I’ll be here to stitch you up after,” Jaskier said lightly. “Anyway, off with you, or you’ll be late. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah. See you later.” And as Geralt walked out the front door, he couldn’t help but feel as though he had found a second home.

[mortimers-cross]

Where Do We Go from Here? (CATS 2019)

You truly are a Jellicle Cat… A Dear Little Cat. With those words, it seemed the ancient queen had granted Victoria a new life, a new beginning. No longer lonely and unwanted, she had found a home, a family.

But what now? She was still a newcomer, a relative stranger to these felines. They seemed a tightknit bunch, and though they had technically accepted her, she had a feeling it would be some time before she truly felt a part of them. And…just how would she fit in? What should she do? What did they all do every day, anyway, when they weren’t holding their celebratory Ball? Many of the Jellicles, she’d noticed, wore collars. Did they spend most of the year with their human families, only returning to the junkyard once a year for the Ball? But Victoria had no human family—and was certainly not ready to try again for one any time soon, or perhaps never. What ought she do now, then? Glancing over her shoulder, the snow kitten considered returning to Old Deuteronomy and asking her even more questions; but the Jellicle Leader seemed to have vanished. Evidently, she too had her own human family to return to… at someplace called Vicarage Wall, wherever that might be.

Victoria looked about nervously, feeling herself once more alone. Perhaps last night had been some sort of dream—or perhaps the Jellicles had only seemed to accept her, had only allowed her to join in the Midnight Dance as a matter of course and had already forgotten her entirely.

She needn’t have worried. A moment later she found herself being lifted up into the air and set atop something tall—and fuzzy. She gave a small yelp as she ascended, then clung for balance onto—someone’s head? “S-Socrates?” she stammered, beginning to recover from her fright.

“You remembered!” returned Socrates in an ecstatic tone. “Plato! She knows us apart already!”

“Socrates,” Plato scolded, “remember what Munkustrap has told us. We’ve got to ask folk before we go putting them on our shoulders. Somecats don’t like being up high, or being carried. See how you’ve frightened her.”

Immediately Victoria found herself gently descending back to solid ground. She turned to face Socrates, who looked stricken. “Forgive me, milady…” he began.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Victoria assured him, giggling slightly at his dramatic tone. “I wasn’t frightened—well, only a bit—startled, more like—just for a moment, because I was thinking of other things and didn’t know you were there. But I’m so glad to see you both,” she added, never more sincere in her life. The twins’ coming back to find her had helped to reassure her that she had indeed found her new family.

Socrates brightened considerably. “We thought we might show you around a bit.”

“Tell you about what everyone likes to do for fun,” Plato added. The twins continued going back and forth in this way, taking turns, and Victoria’s head whipped back and forth between one beaming face and the other as she did her best to keep up.

“Show you the best hiding places.”

“Well, not all of them.”

“Find some food.”

“Show you all the good napping spots.”

“Unless you’d prefer to nap first?” Socrates added, now looking at her in some concern.

“Most everyone else is sleeping now, it’s true,” Plato nodded.

“We wouldn’t want to exhaust you.”

Victoria considered a moment. It had been an exhausting night; but she didn’t feel as tired as she might have, all things considered, and she couldn’t completely get rid of a nagging fear at the back of her mind that if she slept (or blinked or turned her back or anything else), all these new friends would disappear and she’d never find them again. “I’m a little tired,” she admitted, “but I’d rather not sleep just now.”

The twin toms looked puzzled for a moment, before understanding seemed to dawn on them. Though Victoria couldn’t understand how they could grasp what she meant just based on her simple statement.

“We won’t disappear, you know,” Plato said softly.

“Plato,” now it was Socrates’ turn to scold, “don’t listen to people’s thoughts without permission!”

“Sorry,” Plato mumbled, ducking his head in embarrassment, “but I can hardly help it! Nor can you.” He turned back to Victoria and confided, “Sometimes Socrates tries purposely to block out everyone else’s thoughts. I know when he’s doing it because his face goes all purple-like and he looks as if he were trying to lay a chicken-egg!”

“Well, all right then, but we’re not meant to let on that we know them without permission!”

Victoria stared at the brothers in amazement. “You…you hear…others’ thoughts?”

Socrates elbowed Plato in the ribs. “There, now you’ve gone and frightened her and she won’t ever want to see us again!”

Victoria shook her head, taken aback by how rapidly the twins jumped between one extreme and the other. And here she’d thought them the quiet sort. Perhaps there had simply been too much going on at the Ball for anyone to stop and chat much; now she wondered if they kept up a constant stream of dialogue in their minds and simply began saying it aloud when the situation applied. “Don’t be silly,” she protested, “I’m not frightened—just surprised. I never heard of anyone reading minds before. But then…I’ve not really known anyone before.”

“Well, you know us now,” Plato declared.

“And we’ll look after you,” Socrates added.

Victoria’s smile faded slightly.

“Oh, what have I said now?” Socrates fretted. Nothing much escaped these twins’ notice.

“Nothing,” Victoria sighed, “it’s only…well, the last time someone said they’d look after me…”

“We’d never leave you all alone,” Plato said earnestly.

Socrates nodded his head vigorously in agreement. “And,” he added, “I will tell you a secret, Victoria… That dog is completely harmless.”

“He makes a loud bark,” Plato picked up.

“But he’s actually terrified of cats,” Socrates grinned.

“One good hiss is enough to send him running.”

“Or simply throwing something for him to chase.”

Victoria nodded and tried to smile, but their reassurances had almost made her feel worse. Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer, then, had known full well that the dog was harmless; but they knew Victoria didn’t know, and so had done it merely to frighten her. Well, it had certainly worked.

“Still, it was not a nice trick,” Plato said, patting her paw sympathetically.

“They…when I arrived back at the Ball, they simply grinned at me as if nothing had happened,” Victoria told him, blinking back tears. She hated speaking ill of anyone in her new family, but she had trouble understanding how Jerrie and Teazer fit into it all. She had come to see the Jellicles as friends who would back each other up in a crisis. By contrast, Jerrie and Teazer seemed to care only for themselves and their silly (often dangerous) games. Were they truly Jellicles, or agents of Macavity?

“Those trouble twins,” Socrates growled softly. “But they mean no harm, Victoria, truly they don’t. They are like…it’s difficult to explain, they are like…like…”

“‘Like’ nothing,” Plato cut in. “They are a pair of overgrown kittens.”

“Orphaned as little tykes, you see.”

“Had to make their own way in the world.”

“Did what they could to survive.”

“Only had each other.”

“Came upon the Jellicles not so long ago.”

“Street life made them a bit rough round the edges.”

“But not cruel, not really.”

“Not on purpose, at least.”

“Instead, everything is a joke or a game to them.”

“Munkustrap says it was their ‘coping mechanism.’”

“Instead of being sad or angry about everything…”

“They decided to laugh at everything.”

“They haven’t the best judgment, it’s true.”

“And they don’t realize the danger of some of their ‘games.’”

“Like human children playing with knives.”

“Not realizing someone could get hurt.”

“But I think…”

“They have finally begun to learn. I think so too.”

“After…after last night, you mean?” Victoria guessed. They really had seemed sorry about Old Deuteronomy. Could it really be that they hadn’t known any better?

“The worst disaster they’ve ever pulled,” Socrates sighed.

“Do you know,” Plato added in a disgusted tone, “they thought what they were sprinkling on us was itching powder?”

“Truly?” Victoria had never heard of itching powder, but it sounded unpleasant. Still, perhaps an itchy pelt would have been preferable to… “What…what was that…what did they pour on us?”

The two toms looked at one another.

“Well…”

“It was…”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Victoria said quickly. “Only…” She hung her head and sank down to the ground in a sitting position. “I’m afraid you might think I’ve gone mad…”

“You saw things,” Socrates supplied.

“You’re not mad,” Plato assured her.

“We saw things too.”

“Most everyone did.”

Socrates seated himself beside her and began purring softly. “Was yours scary?” Victoria nodded wordlessly.

Plato, seating himself on her other side, squeezed her paw. “Want to tell us?”

“I don’t know…” She sighed. She had imagined being left, again and again—by her humans, by the parents she couldn’t remember, even by her newfound friends. The last thing she remembered was all the Jellicles gazing at her in anger and disappointment as she crawled away, shamed and rejected. For what? She didn’t know. After awakening, everyone’s concentration had been completely bent on finding Old Deuteronomy. She’d done her best, more or less successfully, to forget what she’d seen; probably the others had too. But now that things had settled down, the memories still existed and had to be faced.

“It wasn’t real,” Socrates reminded her.

“It was a dream,” Plato added.

“Caused by that stuff they poured on us.”

“Said it was catnip.”

“I think it was something more…”

“But decidedly not itching powder.”

“I know,” Victoria nodded. “But I can’t talk about it…not now, anyway.” And besides, she thought, they already knew. Doubtless they still liked to be told things so as to converse normally like the others, not feel themselves the odd ones out. That was fair enough. But this was something she wasn’t ready to speak aloud.

“Then I’ll say mine,” Socrates offered. “In my…dream, we were still at the Egyptian, but it…well, it was…broken. Nothing but piles of old wall and rubbish around us.”

“Mine was the same,” Plato picked up, “only I moved beyond the Egyptian, out to the streets, eventually around the entire city.” He hesitated and looked towards Victoria, as if reluctant to say anymore—not because he couldn’t, but because he feared upsetting her.

“Go on,” Victoria prompted. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” Plato sighed. “That is—everything was in ruins. I could hardly even tell where I was in the city. When I finally found St. James’s, or what I think was St. James’s, the hat shop was…” He covered his face with his paws.

“Our humans own a hat shop,” Socrates explained, crawling over to wrap his arms comfortingly around his brother. “That’s all right, Plato, I know the rest. Everything was in ruins—hardly any people or animals anywhere—those you did see were badly injured.”

“Yes,” Plato looked up, “and some were trapped beneath bits of rubble. I tried to free someone, but couldn’t. Then—we were all waking, and Old Deuteronomy was gone.”

Victoria gazed thoughtfully at the twin toms. She disliked having upset them by bringing up the topic, but at the same time it was a relief to know she hadn’t been the only one. Perhaps everyone else had had similar experiences. “These…dreams…you don’t think they… mean something, do you?”

“No,” both brothers answered together—a little too quickly, Victoria thought.

“Just dreams,” Socrates reiterated firmly.

“Tricks by Macavity to scare us,” said Plato.

“Now,” Socrates jumped up to his feet, “what about that tour?”

Plato jumped up likewise and offered Victoria his paw to help her stand. She took it, smiling her thanks, and followed along as the twins chattered about all they were going to see.

Clearly the two were keeping something back, she thought to herself. She’d not push the matter now, since it seemed to cause them such anxiety, but privately she planned to speak to Munkustrap about it, first chance she got. Not to repeat everything they’d told her in confidence, which would be unfair, but give him some sort of hint to talk with them; he seemed like the one Jellicles confided in. It seemed so strange, that the two felines who could read others’ minds would be the ones most anxious to hide their own thoughts from others… On the other paw, perhaps it made perfect sense.

As for her own ‘dreams,’ well…she wasn’t ready to think what they might mean, especially the last bit.

For now, she would concentrate on learning all she could about her new family.