#they were all so nice and its refreshing to meet such a welcoming and pleasant group of people

[femfalleen]

just yesterday....for the first time, i was publicly trans. it wasnt in a safe, comfortable room; it wasn't in my bed, through my messenger to people i trust, or here where mostly i am just a bunch of words floating out in the digital nothing for no one and anyone to see, ignorant of the person typing them.

i went to a board game night hosted by other trans people who live local and i was there. i was completely masc looking and sounding but i went out and i had to taste what it was like to not be in a space that was mine or known to me...to be around people who showed support but to know there was a chance for something unlike that.

that had to be one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my life thus far (worse than rolling my car and nearly dying, ngl. at least i had an idea of what to expect when my car started sliding on that icy interstate).

i showed up and walked into a room filled with people who were chatting and getting ready to start the game night and my heart started nearly pounding through my chest. "what if i just look like 'some guy' to them? what if i just seem like someone who's 'just wanting the status'? or if they dont treat me as someone who wants to transition just because im essentially at phase -1 of my transition?"

i was so scared by that i set the board game i brought along down and rushed to the restroom (to collect my nerves as well as needing a moment of relief).

until i accepted myself as trans, looking and feeling like "a man" never once made me think about how i might be perceived. sure, every now and then id be concerned that maybe my clothes might need to be washed, but i wasnt ever conscious of how masculine i appeared and how much people accepted and "felt" that coming from me. and in one fell swoop, suddenly i was in over my head with how much i didnt want that feeling exuding from me, how much i didnt want to be perceived as a man in this space, and how much i desperately wanted to not be seen as i looked but as i myself felt. the people who know me irl know that when i get nervous, i can easily be moved to having to evacuate my stomach bc of it and as i returned from the restroom, i was almost certain id end up back there shortly due to the immense pressure of that space, for me. and while i normally have her support, my partner was busy with an event she couldnt possibly be absent/absent minded for .... i was facing this entirely on my own, with none of my supports available for me.

i returned and took a name tag at someone's suggestion: a good point since most everyone there was unfamiliar with one another. i scribbled my current name on it. i couldnt bear being "Efie" yet. i ... i didnt have a reason why. i just couldnt see myself proudly displaying that name for those people when i was advised a nametag could be useful. after this emotional pitfall, i at least found some comfort in trying to help get games going for all the currently attending members and managed to find myself at a table playing something new with people i had literally just met for the first time....and it was nice. social anxiety was down but internal anxiety was reaching new levels...considering i often FAIL MISERABLY at making new friends, being able to sit and talk with them without so much as batting an eye even though i felt like my chest was going to explode was a small success on such a big night for me. as we all got familiar with the game, my miniscule chatterings about which rules i was or wasnt breaking gradually became a banter that i almost pride myself in being witty enough to hold and it was quite nice feeling more and more comfortable, at least at this relatively shallow level, with them.

near the very end of the game i excused myself for a small moment and i took a leap i wouldnt have imagined at the onset of this evening: i awkwardly walked back to the markers, asked who was sitting there to pass me one please, scribbled out my current name and wrote "Efie" in much poorer writing next to it. i was so ashamed i couldnt do that originally...but i also knew id never been verbally addressed by anything else yet and kind of assumed i just wouldnt respond if i was called that...but how else would i gain that experience?

to suddenly make myself that much more vulnerable only to receive nothing but the same, awkward friendship i had had moments before i put that nearly symbolic nametag back on was nothing short of pure catharsis... not only being open enough to just be trans at a public library, but also being able to say, with a bright lavender badge on my chest, that "hey i was absolutely infinitely more anxious than ive ever been and i wasnt even confident enough to write my own name here" and finding only the same open arm-ed acceptance nearly made me tear up between that game and the next.

between the first game and the next i played, i followed the suit of those who had played with me, including who i assume was someone who helped organize the event as she had a method of monitoring all the small groups to make sure everyone was enjoying theirselves, i followed her lead and wafted between ongoing groups just to see some new tabletop games id never seen: i even got to see catan being played for the first time ever, hah.

i sat near them on the floor, as there were no convenient chairs nearby, and read the rules before actually looking at the ongoing match so that id have an idea of what i was witnessing when a bit of a nail was sent right through my already aching tummy: "hey what's that on your nametag?" i was propositioned from a person focused on the match. i assume they asked me purely because i was quietly observing out of respect for a game i think/thought(?) to be complex and didnt want to interrupt any of their thoughts.

i told them i had scribbled "it out and wrote my name" on it. "oh cool! what's that say? Eef-ee? how do you say that?" they smiled at me.

the first time in words id ever heard what is my current chosen name. it stuck me like a cramping muscle suddenly shooting itself right up the thigh, announcing its presence triumphantly by bringing your whole body to awareness. it wasnt a good feeling but it wasnt inherently bad. i felt like such a child, almost, being asked by a parent what they had brought. i dont know why but that was the feeling i had. maybe because i not only made a point of it by not getting a new sticker, but also feeling like a fish out of water in every way sitting near these four girls. i felt like an outside for a second and wasnt sure how to respond or what to feel.

to say i nearly sank under the table, even at this innocent observation of my own choices, was practically an understatement.

"um..yeah, kind of like Eevee haha.." i managed to squeek out at them.

"wow that's a cool name!" they had passed their eyes briefly from my name tag to my face and then back to catan, which i dont blame them for. i did my best to not look to many people in the eyes as i know i can stare pretty hard so i figure they couldve felt the same or something but i wasnt really concerned. their tone was comforting and their demeanor as welcoming as i couldve read from someone i barely knew.

the rest of that event ended in pretty quiet circumstances for the purpose of this blog, but it was fun playing codenames again after having enjoyed it 3-5 years prior. i still am sorting through what it meant to feel that way and was confused enough to post about it to the groups discord saying basically "wow that was very hard for me i am sorry also i am awkward" and was only met with kindness and empathy, as most agreed that the first time you allow yourself to be seen by anyone you dont know or arent comfortable 100% with is an impossibly stressing situation and that youll find comfort and confidence in continued experiences like that and it will go from being unimaginable to being the peak of comfort ... and i truly hope so. i really did enjoy the night, after retro-and-intro-spection on it.

[hi-itsanniemarie]

"Bella, however, was straight chamomile for your soul, warm and calming with just enough sweetness that always left you wanting a little bit more..."

Pairing: Bella x Reader (referred to as "You")

Word Count: 3600ish

Warnings: mild language, adult themes & fluffy thoughts :)

(Takes place during filming of TLoU2)

Your first two weeks on the job had been pretty inconsequential, which you desperately appreciated since it was your first time working in this particular setting. You had been working for the studio for a few years now, but, being on location and having a more hands on approach with a huge production was all new to you. When the email about the job found its way to your inbox, you knew that this was exactly the opportunity you had been waiting for. Ever since the world opened up again two years ago, you had been searching for something a bit more exciting. You were happy enough with your job but being the assistant to the assistant of some big wig in the legal department hadn't always been the most stimulating or rewarding. There was also the rather unimpressive matter of your love life.  That had definitely been put on the backburner over the last couple of years, not that it ever truly had been on fire so to speak. So, since there was nothing holding you back, you had come to the conclusion that a new adventure and a fresh take on life was just the thing that would solve all your problems. 

You were the first employee to reply to the inquiry and was quickly approved for the position. You figured there wasn't  a lot of interest in leaving the warm and pleasant southern California winter for whatever awaited in Vancouver, but you knew it would be exactly what you needed, plus you got to buy cute new  boots. The studio was loaning you out to help with the overwhelming scale of the show's production. You would be helping out the Assistant Director as basically a second, 2nd AD. You had to laugh, here you were trying to escape the whole helping out the assistant gig but you couldn't deny the change of scenery. The job itself wasn't very stressful which allowed you to fully adjust mentally. Your duties included handing out the next day's call sheets and shepherding the cast to and from set. This meant you got to drive a golf cart sometime if the location was far enough away from base camp and you couldn't lie, that made you feel pretty important.    

So here you were, two weeks in and making some good professional connections. The crew had been very welcoming to you and you were a little surprised at how friendly and personable the cast had been right off the bat. You knew that people had the tendency to become like family on a set and you had heard about this particular group of cast and crew being extremely close, so it was really cool that everyone had opened their arms to you. Everyone always had something to say to you and you would reciprocate with generic friendly banter while escorting them at the start and end of the day. 

You were mostly in charge of the principal cast as well as some of the supporting cast and extras. You were admittedly a bit nervous at meeting the "Big Three" but your nerves were quickly put to ease. Pedro and Gabriel would joke and ask you about your favorite movies and music and constantly kept you on your toes. It was nice to feel so included but they were like a double shot of espresso directly into your veins and their jovial whims were sometimes a lot to take in that early or late in the day. Bella, however, was straight camomille for your soul, warm and calming with just enough sweetness that always left you wanting a little bit more. They were obviously friendly but there was an air of mystery that surrounded Bella and you honestly found that very refreshing, it made it easier for you to focus on your job without having to worry about sounding cool or impressive with your small talk. You knew that you came off quiet and shy, it was something you were trying to work on. You wanted to crack open your shell more with everyone, you knew it was important to be open with coworkers, but remaining professional and keeping things light and simple was something that was important to you too. It was a fine line and you certainly knew how to awkwardly tread it.

Before you knew it, those two weeks had suddenly turned into six, leading you to completely understand the concept of production time moving differently than real time. It felt like only six seconds had passed but also as if you all had been together for six years. Each day was as new and exciting as the very first, yet you had now settled into a comfortable routine that made you feel confident and purposeful in your role on set. For example, you knew when you picked Pedro up from base camp that he would need 27 shots of espresso over ice, despite the average temperature being 45 degrees, as well as a full recap of the show you were binging at his recommendation. And thanks to Gabriel, you had learned more about hockey then you ever thought was possible and always checked the stats from the  previous day's games to throw at him as you handed over his coffee. And with Bella, well, they were a bit trickier than the others. You always handed them their drinks with the biggest of smiles which they would return immediately along with friendly interaction. No, that wasn't the complicated part. The thing was that Bella had started to take the time to ask about you. All the big and important things that kinda scared you. When they tried to get you to open up and expose a deeper part of yourself,, that shy and insecure creature would take over your brain. Friendships or any kind of connection with someone was hard for you. You knew from experience that being vulnerable and deep with someone would only end up with some sort of betrayal or heartache. That is why you found it easier to try and not get too close to anyone and just keep your work mode activated at all times. The last thing you wanted was for Bella to think you were rude and when they smiled and their eyes seemed to burn into your soul, you began to find it harder and harder to ignore their intrigue.

Over the next week you found yourself trying to  let go more when you were with Bella and to not be so concerned about what they might think of you. And soon It was almost involuntary, you didn't even have to try, everything was becoming more natural between you two. Bella was absolutely the easiest person to talk to that you had ever met. They always had the most insane eye contact with you as you spoke, and it made you a little excited, almost as if Bella thought you were the most interesting person in the world. Questions and answers were given back and forth with smiles, laughter and the occasional, "No way, me too!" and it really felt nice to laugh like that again and to feel a connection with someone. Soon the desire for the journeys to and from set to last longer were starting to occupy a good portion of your heart. 

The sun was dripping through the leaves and warming the cold ground as production wrapped for lunch. You couldn’t believe that another two weeks had passed as you deeply inhaled the fresh air around you. It had been nice to get away from the city for a bit, taking in the beauty of the Vancouver forests. It was a small location shoot this week, "Ellie's Big Birthday Adventure" as it was cited on the call sheets. The crew numbers were down  and the only cast that was needed was Pedro and Bella. The air was different out here and there seemed to be a rejuvenated sense of childlike wonder amongst the cast and crew. You were constantly  running around trying to keep an eye on your "kids'' as you and the crew affectionately referred to Pedro and Bella. It had been much easier in the city when everyone had a designated trailer to hangout and wait for you in but now you found yourself pulling them away from bug collecting and rock skipping whenever they were needed. Despite the ever changing runaround with them, you fell asleep every night with the biggest of smiles, you were loving every moment of it. 

As you were exiting the Craft service tent you noticed Pedro, Bella and another crew member waving you over. You nodded at them acknowledging the invitation and settled down on a spare seat between Bella and a camera operator. Normally you didn't join the others during their breaks, you usually tucked yourself away in one of the crew trailers with your headphones in and your eyes closed if you weren't running around collecting updated sheets or checking in with other actors. However here, bounded by the trees, there wasn't anywhere else you would rather be. 

"We're finding out what everyone's favorite field trip was when they were in school." Pedro stated after you had exchanged a communal wave to the group. You laughed softly as you popped open your drink can, you never got tired of the random conversations. 

"Mine was when my high school drama class went to the Pantages Theatre and saw Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. So. Good." Pedro continued, "and Bellie's was..."

"Beatrix Potter's house, Year 4, Mrs. Anderson's class," Bella said as they shot a finger gun in your direction. "I still have the Tom Kitten magnet on the fridge at home." 

"Niagara Falls," the camera operator added matter of factly pulling open a bag of chips. 

"All very cool," you said, shifting slightly in your seat trying to think of your answer. "Ok, well my favorite field trip was probably the time we went to this big history museum in the middle of the city," You paused for a moment, the thought not lost on you that the facade of the "Wyoming Museum of Science and History"

was peaking through the trees.

"There's just something super magical about museums when you're a little kid," Bella said

"Right?!" you agreed, "I don't know, I'm still pretty obsessed with them to be honest," you began rambling without realizing, "They are actually a really good place for a date, ya know, it's pretty low pressure but still way fun. The fact that you have to talk kinda quietly and be close to each other is a bit sexy. Oh, and I think it's really fun trying to impress each other with random facts and, yeah..." you trail off as if lost in a memory. 

"Is this coming from experience?" Pedro gently said, snapping you back to reality. 

"Yeah… that's probably a story for another time..." you said, falling silent and hoping that another time would never come. You really didn't feel like sharing your past relationship failures to everyone and you continued to sit there wishing someone would talk about something else.    After a moment or two of silence you heard, "Did you know that I went to a postcard museum once? Yeah, it was nothing to write home about..." they said in their most deadpan delivery. You bit your lip as a giggle tumbled out and joined the rest of the laughter amongst the group. You glanced over at Bella so thankful that they had sensed exactly what you had needed.

The following day shooting wasn't due to happen until later in the afternoon and a few people were getting together to go on a hike to Twin Falls Bridge. The air was much colder than usual that morning so you doubled up on your layers. It seemed like everyone from production was huddled together outside and you quickly joined them as Bella pulled you into the group. 

"Hi!" Bella beamed with their brilliant smile and  

"Hey Roo! Nice camera," you pointed out, knowing full well that they took photos of everything.  You had gotten into the habit of calling Bella, "BellaRoo” or just “Roo” and you definitely noticed them smirking whenever you used the nickname, almost as if they were proud of the fact that they had the honor of earning one. Bella shrugged, "You know me, always documenting the pretty things," They pointed the camera in your direction as you hid your face with your hands, the flush in your cheeks warming your chilled skin. 

"Oh god! That was so bad."

"Yeah, it really wasn't my best," Bella laughed in agreement. The hike was beautiful but you were so unbelievably cold. You realized that your shivering must have been more profound than you thought when Bella bounded over to you holding out a jacket. 

"I'm totally not ok with you freezing to death," they smirked coyly. 

"Oh is that so?" you said playing along, "Afraid you'll have to find someone else to bring you all your drinks or something?"

"Yeah something like that," Bella tossed you the jacket, "and plus all the paperwork is just so annoying." 

“Are you sure? Aren't you going to freeze now?”

“I’m a hundred percent sure,” they smiled, “And Pedro will probably be over here in 30 seconds offering me his jacket anyway,” they added with a slight chuckle.

“Ok, well thank you,”you chuckled. You savored the soft scent of honey and citrus that lingered on the collar as you let its warmth encase your body, “I’ll wash it tonight and get it back to you tomorrow. I promise” you added as you fiddled with the zipper and realized your hands were officially numb. 

“You can keep it. You know, so I don't have to find someone to replace your ass…” Bella said as they reached down and hooked the zipper into place and slid it up for you. They then proceeded to cup your hands in theirs and brought them to their lips, and gently used their warm breath to relieve your discomfort. 

“Really? But it’s this your favorite jacket? I mean I see you wear it all the time.” You stated, doing your best to sound normal  even though every fiber of your being had exploded into a million pieces at the intimacy of the moment. 

“I like it on you,” they said in between breaths,, “Cuz, you know it uh, it goes with your...” Bella stammered and dropped your hands as they took a step back, “...your uh, your face.” they awkwardly gestured at your face. You couldn’t tell if Bella was actually nervous or if they were just being funny with you. Either way, you felt somewhat relieved when you saw Pedro running up the trail unzipping his jacket, any awkward tension between you two was instantly swept away by your laughter and Bella’s “I told you so” look. 

You were happy to be back at base camp, a week out in nature was so nice but you had missed the coziness of the community in the city. You and Bella had put together a scrapbook full of plants and polaroid's from the past week and you couldn't help but smile at the photos, losing yourself in the memories before heading out the door for the day. 

You took your usual walk from the production apartments to base camp stopping by the local coffee shop to pick up the kid’s assorted drinks. As you rounded the final corner and crossed the security barricade you felt your phone buzzing in your pocket. You glanced down at your watch and saw the message from the AD, scenes had been moved around and they would be needing Bella  in hair and makeup sooner than planned. You stopped by the crew trailer, tossed your bag into your locker and texted Bella.

You made your way over to Bella’s trailer and sat on the steps to wait for them. You really did not enjoy when schedules were moved around at the last minute, the anxiety of reaching out and locating the required parities and potentially ruining their plans was not a fun aspect of the job. However you were glad it was Bella today, nothing ever seemed to truly inconvenience them, plus seeing them first thing in the morning always seemed to make the morning light shine a bit brighter.  You didn't have to wait long, Bella showed up right when they said they would. 

“Hi hi hi!” they exclaimed as they rushed past you up the steps and disappeared in the trailer for four seconds to drop their bag off before jumping back down, “Let’s go!” they said, grabbing their coffee with a smile as you quickly radioed over to the MUAH team to let them know Bella was on the way. On your walk over you passed by the breakfast spread that was being laid out and you snagged a couple pieces of toast and handed one over to Bella.  

“Thanks! Hey did you know in ancient Rome they used to drop a piece of toast into their wine for good health?”

“What?” you replied somewhat thrown off at the randomness of their question.

“Yeah! That’s why we call it “raising a toast”.” they said excitedly, their face eagerly waiting for your response.

“Ohhh no way! That’s pretty cool actually,” you smiled at Bella, “when did you become an expert in obscure historical facts?” 

“Oh, you know, I'm just full of interesting facts, can't help it, I was just born that way.” that cheeky grin appearing instantly across their face. 

“Ok what else you got then? Since you’re such a natural,” You smirked, egging Bella on.

“Australia is wider than the moon.” they replied instantly and matter of factly.

You nodded your head while trying your best to hold back a smile, “ Your family must be so proud of this God given talent.” Bella just shrugged and threw their hands up as entered hair and makeup and disappeared with a quick wave. 

You were going over the rest of the day’s schedule with the AD when lunch was called and everyone scattered like ants in all directions to spend their time in various ways. After grabbing a snack you found some secluded chairs and popped your buds in your ears and selected your goto playlist. You were so zoned out that it startled you when a cassette tape landed in your lap. You paused your  music as you looked over to see Bella crashing down in the seat next to you out of breath. 

“You are ok?!”

“Yeah, I just ran from my trailer and back to get that.” they said, pointing to the tape, “I made it for you and I wanted you to have it for the weekend.” 

“Um, what? You made me an actual mixed tape? I'm sorry, I was unaware that it was 1987!” you said in amusement as you glanced down at the insert covered in Bella’s handwriting and doodles.

“Oh stop it!” Bella laughed as they hit your leg in jest. “Pedro showed me how to do it! And I know they have a tape player in those ancient production flats so you have no excuse. It's just some songs that I think are vitally important for you to experience.”

“Well if it's of vital importance I will not let you down.” You promised as you slid the tape safely into the pocket of your jacket. 

“Good,” Bella replied happily as they tucked their legs up on the chair and opened their water. It felt good just having Bella around. The way they seemed to calm the air yet electrify it at the same time was something that you wished you could bottle and take with you everywhere, just to have the sense of them around at all times. 

“And thank you Roo, nobody’s ever made anything for me before, it's really cool.”

“Really?! I find that hard to believe,” 

“Oh no its absolutely the truth! To be honest, no one ever really stuck it out long enough to care I guess. After all the trying and failing that I've done, I've realized that the common factor in it all has been me and that I must just be hard to love. I’ve grown to accept the fact that I'm destined to be alone,” you glanced over at Bella who was looking at you with those eyes that seemed to know your pain and offer you comfort all at the same time, “Ah, don't look at me like that, its fine, I’m fine, I swear,” you chuckled awkwardly, “Some people just aren't special in that kind of way i guess.” 

"That's bullshit! There is totally someone out there for you and they will end up proving to everyone who made you feel unloved that they were so fucking wrong." Bella's eyes seemed to darken as they started intently into yours. You could tell that they were being serious with their words, something you only really noticed when they were working through stuff with Pedro. Just then the AD's voice bellowed out that principal actors were needed back for makeup checks. 

"And who knows, maybe they're going to be a lot easier to find than you think." Bella softly smiled as they handed you their water and slowly backed away into the crowd that was forming. "You're fucking special. In the best way. Don't forget that!" Bella shouted and smiled as they disappeared into the swarm of people. A smile burst onto your face and you quickly buried your face in your hands knowing that you were turning red despite the amused laughter. Why were they so good at this? Allowing a person to be seen and to feel understood. The feeling that was pulling in your chest was somewhat new to you, and it felt like something stronger than gravity.

[poisonlove]

Miss Ortega | j.o

part 10

The Christmas holidays were approaching, and I was at Jenna's house. Jenna's family had arrived from California a few days earlier, eager to spend the holidays with their daughter since they didn't have many opportunities to see her during the year. Of course, Jenna's family had no idea that Jenna and I were in a relationship, which complicated things because Jenna was my Calculus teacher.

A few hours earlier, I received a call from my mother informing me that my grandmother wasn't feeling well and that the family would have to travel to Italy to visit her. Due to the high flight costs, I offered to stay in the United States, obviously concerned.

Jenna's family suggested that I spend the holidays with them; they were curious to meet me. I enthusiastically accepted the invitation, grateful for the opportunity to spend Christmas with Jenna's family. I was eager to get to know Jenna's parents better and spend time with them during the festivities.

I did have some concerns about my relationship with Jenna, especially considering the fact that she was my teacher. However, I hoped that we could set aside her role as a teacher and student during the holidays and simply enjoy our time together as friends (in front of her parents).

Despite my worries, I was excited about spending Christmas with Jenna's family. I looked forward to discovering what they had planned for the holidays and feeling welcomed in their home.

"Thank you so much for the invitation; it's really kind of you. I would be delighted to spend the Christmas holidays with all of you," I admitted with a smile.

"We're really glad you've accepted. It'll be nice to have some company during the holidays," Jenna said, giving me a tender look and a smile.

During dinner with Jenna's family, they chatted animatedly, immersed in a pleasant atmosphere. Jenna and I exchanged secret smiles, aware of the need to keep our relationship discreet.

I paused in the act of bringing the fork to my mouth when I felt Jenna's hand on my thigh. With a shiver, I tried to ignore her touch and continued listening to the conversations at the table. Jenna's hand moved closer to my inner thigh, and on instinct, I coughed, attracting the attention of those present.

"Excuse me, something went down the wrong way," I admitted, looking at Jenna with narrowed eyes. She hid her smile, looking at her family with enthusiasm.

During dinner, Jenna's parents asked me about school and my plans for the future. I responded enthusiastically, trying to be natural despite the awareness that I had to hide my relationship with Jenna.

The night continued with joy and happiness as the family enjoyed each other's company. Despite moments of caution, the dinner became a precious memory for all, a time when love and acceptance prevailed over the need to hide the truth.

"So, Mrs. Ortega, is there a favorite dish you like to cook during the holidays?" I asked, trying to strike up a conversation with Jenna's mom.

"Oh, dear, call me Natalie... anyway, during the holidays in California, I like to prepare the traditional Christmas turkey with all its sauces and side dishes. It's a family tradition. And you, t/n, what's your favorite Italian dessert during the holidays?" she asked, knowing that I'm Italian.

"I love pandoro! It's a Christmas sweet that I adore. It's fluffy and light, and I love serving it with a bit of mascarpone cream. But I'm also curious to find out what the typical Christmas sweets are in California. Do you have any local specialties?"

"Well, here in California, we have a wide variety of desserts. One of the most famous is strawberry cheesecake. It's a delicious and refreshing dessert, perfect for Californian days. Additionally, we have a strong tradition of artisanal ice creams and sweets made with fresh seasonal fruits," Edward chimed in, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"Wow, that sounds delicious! I love discovering new desserts and flavors during my travels. I can't wait to try the strawberry cheesecake and other local sweets during my visit to California," I admitted, gently intertwining my pinkie with Jenna's.

"Speaking of California, have you already planned what to visit during your stay? Obviously, if you come in the summer. There are many interesting places to see. For example, the beautiful city of San Francisco with the famous Golden Gate Bridge, and the vibrant atmosphere of Los Angeles with its beaches and theme parks," Isaac added, shrugging casually with a hint of pride for his city.

"I'm fascinated by California, and I can't wait to explore San Francisco and Los Angeles. They're iconic places I've always dreamed of visiting. And I'd also like to discover lesser-known spots; if you have any advice to give, I'd love to hear it," I asked, glancing at Jenna.

"Absolutely! There are many off-the-beaten-path destinations that might interest you, like the beautiful Santa Barbara with its beaches and Mediterranean climate, or the picturesque town of Monterey with its famous aquarium. These are charming places that could enrich your trip," Aliyah, one of Jenna's sisters, chimed in.

"Thank you for the suggestions! I'm truly excited about visiting California and discovering all these wonders. I feel fortunate to have this opportunity," I confessed, taking a sip of my Coca-Cola.

"We're happy to have you here with us, t/n. It will be a special experience to spend the holidays in California together, if you decide to come, of course. If you have more questions or curiosities about our city or state, don't hesitate to ask. We're here for you," Natalie said sweetly, smiling warmly at me.

"Thank you, Natalie. I'm grateful for your warm welcome," I said, looking at the family with embarrassment, hearing laughter around the table.

"Have you finished buying all the Christmas presents?" Natalie changed the subject, starting to clear the table.

"Oh no, I'm sorry, I haven't had the chance to do that yet. It's been a really busy period for me," I admitted, remembering the pile of tasks we still had to do.

"I understand, it's a hectic time indeed. But we still need to find a time to do the shopping," Edward smiled at me, taking a sip of his wine.

"Yes, we need to go gift shopping. Can we do it tomorrow?" Jenna looked at me with a smile, clearly excited about shopping together.

"Will you join us, T/N?" Isaac suggested, looking at me with eager eyes. Embarrassed, I looked at Jenna, unsure how to respond. Jenna raised an eyebrow at her brother, trying to read his intentions.

"Yes..." Jenna responded on my behalf, subtly placing her hand on my thigh.

(...)

After dinner, Isaac and I found ourselves on the couch, chatting about various topics. Out of the corner of my eye, I looked for Jenna, who was helping her parents wash the dishes in the kitchen. I smiled sheepishly when I realized that Isaac had extended his arm over my shoulders, likely seeking to hug me.

"Does anyone want some coffee?" I heard a voice from beside me and turned to her with embarrassment. Jenna watched us with curiosity, offering a forced smile.

"Oh, yes, please! Coffee would be great," I tried to break the awkward atmosphere around us, looking at Jenna with a forced smile on my lips. Jenna's dark eyes looked at me, trying to understand my intentions.

"I'd like coffee too, thank you," I could feel Isaac's eyes on one side of my head. I lowered my head to my lap, absentmindedly playing with my fingers.

"Alright, I'll prepare coffee for everyone," Jenna nodded, clenching the inside of her cheek to avoid saying anything inappropriate about her brother. The dark-haired girl gave me a fleeting look before returning to the kitchen.

"Hey, t/n, would you like to go out for coffee sometime? I'd love to get to know you better," Isaac's question surprised me, unable to imagine that he'd be interested in going out with me. The metallic clatter of the coffee maker hitting the table startled me.

Jenna had intentionally knocked the coffee maker onto the table upon hearing her older brother's proposal.

"Oh, well, sure! That would be fun," I admitted, looking shyly at the boy.

Isaac Ortega is a young man with a charming and distinctive appearance. He has an average height and an athletic build, indicative of his commitment to sports and taking care of his body. His hair is a soft shade of dark brown, which suits his short and neat haircut perfectly. He has an intense and penetrating gaze, with deep brown eyes that seem to light up when he's excited or interested in something. His eyebrows are well-defined, accentuating the expressiveness of his face.

Isaac's face is characterized by a square jawline and a slightly pronounced chin, giving him a determined and masculine appearance. He has clear and smooth skin, suggesting good personal care. His smile is contagious, with white and perfectly aligned teeth.

"That's great! I'm sure you'll have a great time," Jenna's tone of voice was slightly different, probably trying to raise her voice to avoid showing her discontent.

"Thank you, Jenna. I think we'll get along well," Isaac said with satisfaction.

"Yeah, I'm sure we will. Enjoy your date, you guys," it was evident that Jenna was jealous and almost afraid of being too obvious. I gave her a sidelong glance, signaling that only the teacher could see it.

"Thanks, Jenna. Will you join us next time?" I looked at Jenna, trying to convey that she should change her tone if she didn't want to blow our cover.

"Of course, I'd love to. Just let me know when," Jenna smiled nervously, wiping her hands with a cloth.

Jenna returned with the coffees and noticed the tension between Isaac and me, but decided not to intervene directly to avoid making the situation worse. She tried to distract herself and involve other family members in the conversation, hoping that the atmosphere would gradually ease.

Despite Jenna's jealousy, the evening continued, but the presence of Isaac and Jenna in the same room became an evident point of tension. I tried to stay polite and not reveal my discomfort, while Jenna struggled to hold back her words.

***

18+

After an endless hour, it was time to go to sleep. Jenna had assigned the rooms to her family, wanting to sleep in the living room so as not to arouse suspicion. I take off my shirt, intending to put on my pajamas when I hear the sound of the doorknob. I look toward the door in a panic, but then smile as I realize it's Jenna. The brunette smiles sincerely when she sees me without a shirt and rolling her eyes in a childish gesture.

"Are you staying here?" I ask, lowering my voice. Jenna nods absently, almost surprised by the obvious answer. She takes off his shirt and undoes the buttons, quickly removing her pants. My throat dries up at such beauty and my eyes can't help but get lost in its curves. “My God…I really need you to touch me,” Jenna confesses, shifting uncomfortably in place. I open my mouth in surprise and lick my lips greedily, imagining finally getting a taste of Jenna.

"Get naked and lie on the bed," I say seriously, finally putting my shirt on. Jenna obeys my request with a smile on her lips. "You have to be extremely quiet, Jen, if you want to avoid being found out," I admit, leaning my knees on the mattress of the bed, my eyes looking at her completely naked body with mischief. "I will be, love" I smile like an idiot when I hear the nickname. "You are mine, right? Not Isaac's," she asks seriously, looking into my eyes.

I nod several times.

I lie across Jenna's body, looking up at her with sparkling eyes. "Completely yours... now show me that you are mine." I confess looking at her privacy. My breath crashed into her privacy and she shuddered instantly. I smell her delicious excitement again, a pungent scent but not unpleasant. It was fascinating to see how excited she was for me, you could see her small and big lips covered and shiny with her fluids. She snorts in exasperation and I smile.

I bit my lip satisfied with what I saw.

I gave her a kiss on the lower lips and began to lick them. Jenna groaned softly putting her hands on my shoulders. "Please, love," she murmurs again.

I looked up to see that Jenna was propped up on her elbows looking at me pleadingly, her eyes hooded with arousal. her hair on the sides of her shoulders moved due to her heavy breathing. Her lips were parted.

Without looking away, I put more pressure on her intimacy and wrapped my lips around her clit. moan more. I saw that she went back to bed. Her hands clenched the sheets.

It was fucking exciting.

"Yes..." he whispered slowly. I started sucking on her button and Jenna's sighs gradually increased. I closed my eyes and continued to move my tongue around her clit, swallowing and savoring her delicious taste. I put a finger inside it to collect more fluids wanted more. "Yes... continue" she said, biting her lips hard to hide her moans.

I clung more to her thighs and inserted my tongue into her privacy. "Shit," she groans, biting her lower lip, closing her eyes.

I smiled and gently kissed her inner lips, releasing a stream of saliva that connected her to my mouth. With one hand, I made rotary motions around her clit, causing Jenna's sighs to grow heavier. My hand was completely covered in her fluids, and I leaned in and placed another kiss on the nervous wreck. I licked the excitement off my lips with my tongue.

I put my lips around her clit again and slipped two fingers inside her. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jenna's knuckles go completely white, clenching needily on the sheets.

The walls of little Ortega tightened around my fingers and I realized that it was coming. She put her hands in my hair and made more pressure towards her intimacy. I kept licking and penetrating.

Her back arches more.

"YES..." she moans and arching my fingers I find his G-spot. He moans mostly. "Fuck," she exclaims. Her hips moved more and I increased the pace of the lick. As I stopped penetrating her, I put my fingers in my mouth, sucking on her nectar. "Look at me," I exclaim. Stopping licking her delicious intimacy. With difficulty she supported her weight on her arms and excitedly looked at me.

She was covered in sweat and her lower lip was caught between her teeth. I took her legs and invited her to rest them on my shoulders, giving me more access to her privacy. Without looking away, I licked again and watched as Jenna shifted her weight onto one arm, the other reached out and put her hand through my hair. Move your hips again.

groaning.

-Fuck!. Yes...- she whispers. Her eyes turned white with excitement. She turned her attention back to me. "Y/N," she exclaims with difficulty. "I'm... for..." she murmurs with difficulty and doesn't even finish pronouncing the sentence when I feel his arousal pouring into my mouth. I ate the excess. Breathing raggedly, Jenna leans back against the mattress. With a satisfied smile I rest my head against my beloved's abdomen, enjoying her pampering.

"From one day to the next you became an expert, amore" Jenna's words made me feel proud and murmuring against her skin I continued to enjoy her caresses.

ĶA long night awaits us.

[sassyhobbits]

Could you please write post Kingdom of Ash fic where Aelin has to go back to Doranelle with Rowan on important business or something and she deals with her trauma going back/ meets Rowans family/ Rowan repairs his relationship with his cousins? Pretty please 🥺

loved this idea and had so much fun writing it!! combined with the modified prompt of “living is so much harder than dying. are you sure youre fit for living?”

here’s day 5 everyone!!

~~~

It had been three years since Aelin Galathynius had stepped foot in the City of Rivers.

Her first two visits to Doranelle had been… less than pleasant, to say the least. Most sane people who had gone through what Aelin had would never get within a hundred miles of the city. But, Aelin had never been one to allow a shitty experience or two keep her away.

In the three years since the end of the war, Terrasen had slowly been rebuilt. Aelin had gotten used to her role as queen, had gotten used to peace. Although it had been hard and strenuous work, it was worth it. Every struggle and late night, argument with lords and advisors, had led to happiness for her people. Aelin would do just about anything for them.

Part of being queen, Aelin had quickly learned, was responding to correspondences from other kingdoms. Sometimes, they weren’t all that bad. She liked to write to Dorian, enjoyed the sporadic letters she received from Manon. But there were plenty of others that were less fun. Taxes, proposals, budgeting.

But, a few weeks ago, she received a letter from Rowan’s cousin, Sellene, the new Queen of Doranelle. She invited both Aelin and her husband for a diplomatic visit to her lands.

“Are you sure about this, Fireheart?” Rowan had murmured to her one night, curled up in his arms in bed. “You don’t have to go.”

Aelin understood his concern. The last time she had been to Doranelle, she had been beaten and bruised within an inch of her life, patched back together, only to go through the process again the next day. Maeve had certainly done a number on her. But Aelin would be damned if she let the bitch get the last laugh.

“I want to go, Ro,” Aelin assured him. “I want to see where you grew up, get to know your family better.”

I need to go, is what she didn’t have to say, but knew Rowan understood. Aelin had conquered many of her fears in the years since the war, but there were still nights she woke up screaming, still nights when it was impossible to tell the difference between the darkness of night and the darkness of the iron coffin.

She needed to go back to the place where she had been brought down to her lowest. Needed to prove that she was strong, and that she had triumphed.

And so it was decided. The queen and king consort would sail east.

They stayed a week in Wendlyn with Aelin’s cousin, Galan. Since he had sailed to her aid during the war, they had formed a closer friendship. It was good to see him, to see the kingdom from which her mother hailed.

From there, they traveled by carriage to Doranelle.

“Much nicer than the first time we made this journey,” Aelin remarked one afternoon from the comfort of their carriage, resting her head against Rowan’s shoulder.

“You certainly smell better.”

Rowan earned himself a slug on the shoulder for that little comment.

They passed into the City of Rivers discreetly, not truly wanting to deal with a huge welcoming party. Aelin convinced Rowan to take a day to themselves, for her husband to show her the city itself. The beautiful, simple lives of the citizens of Doranelle. How Rowan had grown up.

It was a perfect day. Aelin loved seeing Doranelle in all its glory. It was truly a work of art, unlike anything she had ever witnessed in her years traipsing the continent. They wore hoods despite the mild, spring weather, the both of them far too recognizable now to move freely without some sort of disguise. It brought her back to the days of being Adarlan’s Assassin.

Rowan brought her to some of his favorite places growing up, showed her a block that sold the traditional street foods of Doranelle for lunch. He bought her some sweets and took her to a lovely park, where they lounged under the shade, just talking and sharing kisses. He took her to a nice restaurant for dinner, snagging a private back room for just the two of them. It was all perfect.

And then the next day, they woke and readied themselves to head to the palace. Aelin managed to wrangle her husband into something nice, though he protested it on the basis of it just being his cousins. She wouldn’t hear of it.

That first day in Doranelle, exploring the streets as nothing more than another citizen, Aelin had been nothing but content and relaxed… but the first sight of that wide, curving bridge that would lead them to the palace had her heart beating just a little bit faster.

She remembered the last time she had crossed this bridge beside Rowan. She had still been going by Celaena then, freshly nineteen, just stepping into her power and her status. Terrified, though she never would have admitted it then. She had already been falling in love with Rowan, and her newly healed heart certainly wouldn’t have survived losing him.

She knew Rowan noticed the small change in her demeanor, feeling him squeeze her hand comfortingly.

They were greeted by Sellene, who was just as elegant and beautiful as Aelin remembered. It was clear she had stepped into her role as ruler with dignity and grace. She embraced Aelin like she was an old friend, making her feel truly welcome.

They were shown to their rooms, given time to settle in and refresh themselves before they would meet in court before dinner.

Their quarters were lovely: bright, open, and airy. The glassless windows allowed for the sweet spring breeze to blow into their room. There was a large bath that Aelin had full intentions of making use of that evening. Hopefully with Rowan. He wouldn’t need much convincing.

Some of Sellene’s ladies came in to help Aelin prepare, making sure her hair was thoroughly brushed and gleaming, twisted up in perfection before placing her crown on top. Her gown was a lovely piece of Terrasen green and intricate silver embroidery.

By the time they were both ready, they made quite a pair. Striking, indeed. Aelin made sure she complimented her husband thoroughly as they made the short trip from their chambers to the throne room.

It managed to distract both Rowan and herself. She barely took in the halls they walked through, some of it twinging deep recesses in her memory, like some sort of dream. But, she forced herself to focus on Rowan, the man she loved, lest the memories get the better of her.

The next thing she knew, they were being announced as they strolled leisurely through the crowded throne room. Fae nobility bowed and curtsied as they walked by, sending them wide, broad grins.

The throne room was so different than Aelin had remembered it. When it had been Maeve perched on that throne, it had been cold and quiet. It had somehow always felt like a trap. But, with Sellene as queen, it was bright and full of life. Music played, people laughed and smiled. It was… good.

A half hour passed by busily. Aelin was introduced to some of Sellene’s courtiers, reintroduced to Rowan’s other cousins. People gave her their thanks, commended her hard work and sacrifice during the war.

It was hectic enough at the beginning to keep her mind thoroughly occupied. Chatting and charming and laughing. It took a while before there was a lull in the conversation, when Aelin wasn’t listening to someone or speaking herself. But, it finally came.

Aelin took the rare moment of solitude to take in her surroundings. Rowan was across the room, talking with his uncle and cousin, Enda. He looked happy, relaxed. She loved it when he smiled.

She looked away from her husband, glancing around the room. Despite her better judgements, her gaze snagged on that throne.  It almost looked non-threatening in the late afternoon sunlight, but her gut still twisted. Images of a pale woman with dark hair and a spider’s smile flashed to her mind unwillingly. She flinched, eyes screwing shut and willing the memories of Maeve away. She was successful at first, but not for long. Images and snippets of voices, of screams that she didn’t know came from herself or others, assaulted her all at once.

Aelin’s breathing sped up, her heart hammering beneath her ribs. She felt the phantom bite of broken glass in her knees, heard Maeve’s cruel laughs. She saw Fenrys, heard his cry when Connall spilled his own blood right there by the throne. It was so clean now. Like none of it had ever happened.

But no. That had been real. The other images Maeve had sent her weren’t but…

Suddenly, the airy throne room was too small, too packed. Aelin felt ill. She ducked her head down, slipping out as discreetly as she could manage. The moment she was sure she was out of view, she bunched up her skirts and ran.

Her body remembered the way down into the depths of the palace, though she had never navigated herself. It had left a mark on her soul. She would never forget.

The dungeons below the palace were a stark difference from the open, bright architecture above. It could have been a different world. It was just as dark and cold as Aelin remembered, as it was in her nightmares.

She wasn’t sure how, exactly, she knew which of the near identical, dismal cells had been hers but… she knew. She hesitated outside the door, amazed by just how ordinary it looked. Who would have guessed that she had been held and tortured behind that door for two months?

Aelin pressed her palm against the door, the magic left in her recoiling at the iron she sensed. These dungeons had been built to keep people with magic contained. They had been well designed.

She pushed into the room slowly, using her magic to light the torches lining the walls. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting to find: a coffin, blood stains, iron chains waiting just for her. But… it was empty. Even the stone table she had been chained to while Cairn carved her up was gone.

Just… nothing.

Aelin wasn’t sure how long she stood there before she sensed a familiar presence behind her. She was wrapped in the familiar scent of pine and snow, Rowan’s warm body standing just behind her. He placed a broad hand on her shoulder. “I thought I’d find you here.”

A tiny smile curved her lips, though she didn’t bother looking back at her mate. “You know me well, husband.”

There were a few beats of silence. Aelin didn't have to be looking at Rowan to know he was carefully considering his next words. So, she did him a favor, and spoke first.

“There’s nothing here,” Aelin said simply, stating the obvious.

“No, there isn’t. Is that a bad thing?”

A tiny shrug. “I don’t know. Yes? No?” Aelin hung her head in defeat, covering Rowan’s hand with her own. “Sometimes, it's hard to believe it all really happened. Without the scars, without the coffin… it just seems like something I dreamed up. I know I didn’t but…”

“But what, Fireheart?”

Her eyes burned with tears, throat tightening. “It would be… comforting, I suppose, to know that the experience left its mark somewhere else than in my head. It was terrifying and hopeless but I don’t want to forget it happened.”

Rowan stepped closer, her back pressed against his chest. He wrapped his strong arms around her securely, pressing a kiss to the back of her head. “I think you know that what happened doesn't only still affect you. I don’t think Lorcan will ever fully forgive himself for summoning Maeve to the beach that day, I don’t think Aedion will ever stop feeling guilty that he hadn’t been there for you when you needed him. And I…”

He trailed off, but Aelin knew Rowan better than she knew herself. She knew his fears, his regrets, his insecurities. Just as Aelin awoke some nights thinking she was back in that coffin, Rowan would wake thinking she was gone. Those nights, he would wrap her tightly in his arms and wouldn’t let go until the sunrise, as if she’d disappear with the morning dew.

She gave a meek nod. “You’re right.”

They stood in silence for a bit longer, stealing strength from one another. After a period of silence, Aelin spoke again.

“I thought it’d be easier by now,” she commented. “I spent most of my life struggling to survive, trying not to die in one way or another. It’s been three years of peace. I know three years is nothing to you and will eventually be nothing to me too but… when does life get easier?”

Rowan didn’t answer right away. “Living, Aelin, is so much harder than dying.”

She sighed and nodded. “You’re right. But when have I ever not stepped up to a challenge?” She looked up at Rowan and smiled cockily. He gave a breathy laugh and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“You’ve already conquered death, Aelin Galathynius,” he said. “I have no doubts you’ll conquer life just as easily.”

[batsandbugs]

Bats Bugs and Boomerangs Chapter 1

A/N: Hey everyone, coming at you with another series! This is actually for a late secret santa gift exchange! My recipient was @m3owww​! Her fandoms were Maribat and Avatar the Last Airbender, so I thought: Why not both? She already had a Maribat characters in the show type fic, so I created a fic where they watched the show. It slowly spiraled out of control though, so this is Chapter 1. I’ll eventually have the batfam (and Marinette) react to the whole series, so comment here and on ao3 what you want to see. So Phi, this is kinda like the gift that will keep on giving? Maybe? I hope you like it anyway. Enjoy! 

Our story begins on a frosty winter evening, outside Gotham at Wayne Manor. Marinette sat in the library working on an assignment for her History of Fashion class. She was alone, because Damian, Dick, Tim, and Bruce were out on patrol, with Barbara on comms. Tikki, unless eating or involved with a transformation, spent her time sleeping due to the freezing weather. While the other Kwami either resided in the box or roamed the grounds, and generally stayed out of the human's way.

Marinette gazed out the window, snow falling softly through the air, covering the ground and the tree branches. A crackling fire warmed the room. She shifted, and a painful ache shot through her leg. Marinette glared at the offending appendage, which was the reason she wasn’t out with the team tonight.

Her Miraculous could cure any injury sustained on the battlefield, it didn’t help her one bit when it came to her own natural clumsiness. She hadn’t paid attention as she’d walked out of class one evening. The dim lighting hid a black ice patch and she slipped and fell. Thankfully, her ankle was only sprained and not broken, but she would be out of commission for at least two weeks. Probably more if Alfred got his way.

Speaking of the elderly butler, he strode into the room carrying a tray of tea and cookies.

“Good evening Miss. Marinette. Need another refreshment?”

She sighed at the cold coffee dregs in her mug. “That would be nice, thank you, Alfred.”

He hummed, grabbing a teacup, and pouring her a serving. “How does your leg feel today? I notice you were leaning heavily on Master Damian after supper.” He handed the cup to her and the warmth was a welcome sensation for her chilled hands.

“Yeah, he’s been nice helping me around.” Nice was a misnomer, more like extremely overprotective. He point-blank refused for her to stay at her own apartment, mostly due to its location on the fourth floor with no elevator access. He all but forced her to watch him pack her essentials to bring to the manor while she recovered. Since then, his attentiveness in ensuring she had what she needed within reach and helping her to class had grown. It was a tad smothering considering his usual aloofness, but she enjoyed his actions for the affection it implied.

“It’s throbbing and hot and feels worse than it did three days ago.” She took a tiny sip of the tea and relaxed into its spiced aroma. Alfred made the best tea.  

He nodded. “It will feel uncomfortable for a while until it starts to mend. Just continue to rest and remain off it and you will be back to carousing around the city like the rest of them in no time.” He poured his own tea and seated himself in the plush armchair across from her spot on the couch.

“Oh, Alfred you say that as if you would not be right there along with us if age allowed,” said Marinette with a grin. The stories Dusu could recount about the elderly miraculous holder were nothing short of entertaining, and she knew damn well Alfred had the same need for action as the rest of the Waynes and their assorted allies.  

“I’d do nothing of the sort,” he said primly, taking a sip of his tea to hide the tiny smirk on his face. Marinette couldn’t help but laugh.

The rest of the evening was spent in pleasant silence. Despite the pain in her leg Marinette pushed through it and finished her assignment, while Alfred read until it neared time when patrol ended. He bustled up the remains of the tea and promise her a fresh cup when he finished seeing everyone arrive safely.

Later, although she could not say how long, she was buried deep in a book and didn’t notice when Damian entered the room until he sat next to her on the couch.

“Good evening angel.” His hair flopped in his eyes, loose and damp from the shower. In his hands, he held a tray with two cups of steaming tea.

“Thanks.” She took the proffered cup of tea with a smile. “How was patrol?”

“Boring,” he sighed. “You certainly are not missing anything.” If he wouldn’t have taken offense to it, Marinette would have described the look on his face as a pout.

“What about the drug seller Tim tracked to the lower docks?”

Damian shrugged. “Gone silent after we busted the last shipment. Seventeen years in and maybe the criminals finally figured out committing crimes in the same city as a relentless vigilante team is a bad idea,” he said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. Marinette couldn’t stop herself from giggling. It was a common joke among the family that Gotham’s criminals never learned.

“I think it means we’re doing our job right,” said Tim walking in with a steaming mug. Marinette opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “Don’t worry, it’s decaf.”

“Like Pennyworth would let him drink anything else this time of night,” scoffed Damian, while taking a sip of his tea.

“I’m perfectly capable of monitoring my own caffeine intake, thanks,” Tim said in offense, seating himself across from the couch in the reading chair previously abandoned by Alfred.

“No, you’re not,” called a voice from the hallway. Dick walked in with a large mug of what was undoubtedly hot chocolate. “The last time he didn’t check your drink after patrol, you used coffee instead of water to brew another pot, and then added four whole bottles of five-hour energy. You didn’t sleep for three days.”

“I also solved five crimes, figured out where the Penguin was hiding, and streamlined the dropbox submission system for Wayne Industries. Life requires tradeoffs.”

“No that’s just you, ignoring basic human necessities. Anyway, besides Tim’s caffeine addiction, what are we talking about?” asked Dick.

“The reason for the lack of crime,” offered Marinette.

Dick shrugged, “Happens every year because of the weather. Even criminals get cold. They’ll return to their usual transgressions once the weather warms.” He took a sip of his hot chocolate.

“Tt. Weak,” muttered Damian.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Not everyone receives extreme weather training under threat of dismemberment, demon brat. We should take the opportunity to enjoy the break.”

“Tim, your version of a “break” involves paperwork,” chided Dick.

“It’s not my fault the rest of you people don’t have lives. I’m a remarkably busy person. And what is this, the-criticize-Tim-hour?”

“Oh, only an hour?” smirked Damian. “I thought it was a continuous event, one could choose to participate in whenever the mood struck. I will have to file all my complaints immediately.”

Tim pouted. “Marinette,” he whined. “Can’t you control him?”

She shrugged, “What do you expect me to do? I’m his girlfriend, not his minder. Besides, they criticize because they care.” She laughed when all three boys snarled their noses at the prospect of feelings.

“Marinette, angel, please; never say that again. I criticize because I am right, and they should know it. Not because of any high-minded ideals such as genuine affection.”

“Okay, okay, enough,” said Dick. “If we have a bit of a break, we should do something! Together, as a family. I think Cass and Steph come back in two days.”

“Grayson, just because your girlfriend is off-world visiting family and you have nothing to do does not mean it holds true for the rest of us.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Tim, “Except not quite, because I don’t have a girlfriend, but I just said I’m busy. R&D is rolling out a new prototype next week, and I have two board meetings scheduled and-”

“Not to mention,” Marinette cut Tim off. He could talk about his schedule forever because he just had that many events. “I can’t move around, what would we even do? Play games?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “The list of games officially banned in our family includes, but is not limited to; Monopoly, Uno, Checkers, Risk, Risk: Legacy, Twister, Jenga, Clue, Guess Who, Poker, Chess, and Go Fish.”

“Oh…” muttered Marinette.

“And that doesn’t even include videogames.”

“After the Wii Bowling incident of 2013, the media room wall was never the same,” Dick said, shaking his head in despair.

“I actually apologized for that, okay?” exclaimed Damian. “Why do you always have to bring it up?”

Marinette fully intended to ask about the incident later. “Okay, so games are out.”

“Ooh,” Dick’s eyes lit up, “How about we call a Family T.V. Event?”

Tim groaned, “The last time we did that we blew up the shed, and got the police called.”

“Well, we won’t watch a crime show.” Dick turned to Marinette. “Jason picked; we watched Breaking Bad.”

“I can see how that would spiral out of control.”

“The time before that, we set fire to the media room and started a familial feud,” Damian pointed out. “Game of Thrones,” he added when Marinette looked to him for clarification.

“Even worse.”

“Okay, fine, so we don’t have the best track record picking shows. But I swear I have a good one this time.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Avatar: The Last Airbender.”

Tim snorted. “What? Like the kid’s show?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Really Grayson, a cartoon? I know you are developmentally stuck at five, but not all of us are.”

“I’ve never watched it, but I’ve heard good things about it,” said Marinette. She knew there was a French translation of the show, but she preferred to watch media in its original language. Before moving to America, before dating Damian, her English had not been strong enough to confidently watch a show and understand all of it.

“Perfect!” exclaimed Dick. “I know you three and Cass haven’t seen it, and neither has Bruce or Alfred. I would bet Jason’s seen some of it, but I’ll have to check. Barbara and I have, but that’s fine, she loves the show. We’ll have to see about Steph too, but I’m sure she’ll enjoy it regardless. There are awesome characters, battles, suspense, comedy, and it’s not likely going to inspire us to blow up the shed or tear each other to pieces!”

“I have in no way agreed to this Grayson. Drake back me up.”

Tim paused for a moment, stuck between his need to disagree with Damian and the need to get out of Dick’s crazy plan. Unfortunately for Damian, the former won out. “Actually, you know what, a show could be fun. The episodes are what, thirty minutes? Shorter than Breaking Bad and Game of Thrones.”

Damian groaned while Dick responded happily, ignoring his brother’s distress, “Around twenty minutes actually. We could have the whole show finished in about a week or so.”

Damian turned to her, eyes wide and hopeful. “Marinette, please tell me you are on my side?”

She patted her boyfriend’s arm, “Sorry, mon amour, I’m stuck either way. Might as well watch a show.”

Damian flopped against the couch with a pout. “Betrayed. I have been grievously betrayed by my own brothers and girlfriend. What is this world coming to?”

“Woo!” exclaimed Dick, a wide grin splitting his face. “This is going to be great.”

“This is going to be awful,” moaned Damian.

-0-0-

It took a bit of convincing on the part of Dick to get Bruce and Alfred to agree to the venture. Marinette, after learning the full details of the last two Family T.V. Events, was wholly unsurprised. She also did not know the full extent of what Dick did to get Jason to agree (apparently, he and Bruce were fighting, again, so this was expected.) although it probably involved a bribe. But by the week’s end, the entire family was together, all under strict orders (and puppy-dog eyes from Dick) to be on their best behavior.

Which, without a doubt, not a single one of them knew what that entailed.

The arguing started with seating placement, then about who controlled the remote, then over the distribution of snacks, drinks, blankets, and pillows. At one point Jason pulled a knife, which prompted Damian to pull his knife, suddenly Cass had two shurikens visible (where she even kept them while wearing a tank top and shorts, no one could say), and then everyone was yelling with sharp pointy objects in hand.

Once the argument was firmly under control, Alfred collected the weapons and placed them in a wicker basket, along with all the mobile devices, until the episodes for the night were finished. The only one allowed to have a phone was Barbara who was in charge of checking police scanners for any major trouble while the family took the evening off.

Marinette seated herself curled up against Damian on the edge of the couch. She set her foot propped up on an ottoman so it wouldn’t get jostled, and she could continue to ice it throughout the evening. Damian secured their own bowl of popcorn, so they didn’t have to share it with the others.

“Alright, here’s how we’re breaking this down,” announced Dick, who won the battle for the remote, and therefore the episode schedule. “The episodes are short, at least, much shorter than the last show we watched.” He directed a pointed look at Jason.

“I make no apologies.”

“We’ll watch half a season a day, ten episodes apiece. The closed captions will be on but try to keep the chatter to a minimum.” Marinette held back a laugh. Damian explained no one kept quiet during these nights. Watching the show wasn’t the point of these events; if that were the case then they would just watch it all on their own time. The point was the time spent together. This is why even Bruce, emotionally constipated and single-minded in his pursuits as he was, put away the suit for a few days to watch T.V. with the rest of his collected family. Talking was expected.  

“We will, if you will,” called Stephanie.  

“I take offense to that.”

“Aw just sit Dickie, let’s watch the show,” exclaimed Jason.

“Yes, Grayson you already wrapped us into this pointless venture; we might as well get it over with,” Damian grumbled. Marinette found his hand in the folds of their shared blanket and laced her fingers with his. He squeezed her hand, and, when he was sure no one else was looking gave her a small smile. Marinette smiled back, he pretended to be such a grouch, but deep down he was a giant softy at heart.

Dick frowned, saying “Fine, fine, you don’t have to be spoilsports about it.” And pointed the remote at the T.V. starting the first episode.

-0-0-

It didn’t take ten seconds before the commentary began.

“Four elements?” exclaimed Tim.  “Are you serious? I could name at least a dozen off the top of my head. How are there only four nations? 0/10 completely unrealistic. Political infighting alone-”

“Ah, shut up, replacement.”

“Ruthless fire nation?” said Stephanie. “Methinks a little propaganda might be occurring here.”

“A hundred years!? What, has no one competent been born the entire time?”

Marinette shrugged. “The disadvantages of finite magic systems, Dami. It's learned indifference.”

“Honey, after a hundred years that’s not hoping, that’s naivety,” said Stephanie in response to Katara’s impassioned speech.

“She’s right!” exclaimed Dick.

“We know that, but she doesn’t.”

The show moved on to Katara and Sokka in a boat. Sokka held a spear above the water.

“Is he hunting that fish?” growled Damian.

“Ah yeah, I forgot you may hate the entirety of Sokka’s character,” said Dick with a grimace. “Whoops.”

“She’s not very good at the water moving, is she?” asked Marinette

“Waterbending,” Dick and Barbara said in unison.

Sokka chided Katara about her weird water magic. “Oh, he’s not going to be a dick for the whole show, is he?” asked Steph.

“He gets better.”

“They grew up here right?” asked Damian, as Katara and Sokka become caught in a rapid. “How did they not anticipate an event like this.”

“I knew I should have left you at home. Leave it to a girl to screw things up!”

“HEY!” shouted all the women in the room.

They watched as Katara’s fury built and broke the iceberg behind her.

“Good. Use anger, anger is alright,” Cass commented for the first time.

“Okay, you’ve gone from weird, to freakish.”

“This punk is just asking for a beating isn’t he,” growled Jason.

The beam of energy shot into the air after Katara and Sokka broke open the ice. “That’s not going to cause any trouble,” said Tim, rolling his eyes. “Nope, not suspicious or completely conspicuous at all.”

The scene switches to a metal ship.

“Finally! Uncle, do you realize what this means?”

“Oh, look, the bad guys,” deadpanned Tim. “I was right.”

Jason grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it into his mouth “What happened to his fucked-up fa-”

“YOU’LL FIND OUT!”

The scene switched back to Katara and Sokka. The figure is revealed to be a hyperactive little kid.

Damian frowned“Oh, I won’t like him either, will I Grayson?”

Dick tilted his head, “Eh.”

Then Appa is introduced.

“Father, could we-”

“No, Damian.”

They watched the children depart, and the scene moved back to the Fire Nation ship.

“Even if you're right, and the Avatar is alive, you won't find him. Your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather all tried and failed.”

“Well considering the Airbender child has been in an iceberg, it’s not surprising they failed.”

“Because their honor didn't hinge on the Avatar's capture. Mine does. This coward's hundred years in hiding are over.”

“Is it just me or does this angry, emo prince remind anyone of demon spawn?”

“Todd, shut your mouth before I remove your tongue.”  

Marinette leaned in close, “Maybe just a little like you.” Damian looked at her with a betrayed pout.

The scene switched and they watched Aang lie to Katara about the Avatar.

“The air child is guilty. Will cause problems later.”

“Narrative Cass, it’s narrative.”

Damian scoffed. “Miscommunication is plot convenience, and it’s a sloppy one at that.”

They watched Aang’s dream of how he ended up in the iceberg, him waking up to Katara and his introduction to the village.

“Well, no one has seen an Airbender in a hundred years. We thought they were extinct until my granddaughter and grandson found you.”

“Extinct?”

“He went into the ice and woke up to find the world different. Anyone getting serious Captain America vibes here?” said Jason, tone-deaf to the clear horror on Aang's face.

“Jason, he just found out his people potentially went extinct!” chided Marinette. 

“It's not for stabbing! It's for air bending.”

“Please tell me the main character is not a pacifist,” begged Damian.

“Well, he is a monk,” said Barbara with a sorry look.

“I sense he's filled with much wisdom,” Katara says as Aang sticks his tongue to his staff and it freezes.

“I switch back and forth between liking this girl and not. One second she’s got gumption, and the next she’s all starry-eyed and naïve,” grumbled Steph.

“I wonder who that reminds me of,” Damian whispered into Marinette’s ear. She felt her cheeks heat up.

"I'm not naive," she shot back. 

He raised a hand with two fingers close but not touching, "You're a little naive." Marinette huffed, but silently admitted to her boyfriend's point. She had a tendency to believe the best in people; she saw it as a strength and appreciated it in this Katara character, but it was so far from how Damian viewed the world, it honestly confused his siblings when they first started dating. 

Damian confided in her that he found it inspiring. She had been through so much, understood the cruelties of others, and still could see the good in people. 

The scene switched to the Fire Nation ship again, and Iroh explained the concept of firebending to an irate Prince Zuko.

“Finally, a display of actual competence,” exclaimed Damian.

“Enough! I've been drilling this sequence all day. Teach me the next set! I'm more than ready!”

“My tutors would have skewered me if I dared to act in such a manner,” he commented again, softer than the first time. More so that only Marinette could hear. Damian’s family was more than aware of his childhood and what it entailed; Marinette slowly learned with comments like this. She squeezed his hand again and received a small smile.

The scene shifted back to the village where Sokka’s failed “warrior lesson” occurred, and then-

“We don't have time for fun and games with the War going on!”

“What war? What are you talking about?”

“Where have you been, frozen in ice for a hundred years?” joked Dick.

They watched Aang offer to take Katara to the North Pole to find a water bending master. The two children go and play with the penguin creatures, but the tone shifted when an old Fire Nation ship appeared on the screen.

“Bad ship” muttered Cass.

“If you want to be a bender, you have to let go of fear.”

“There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t even know where to start,” said Tim.

They watch Aang and Katara enter the Fire Nation Ship and wander talking about the war.

“Aang, how long were you in that iceberg?”

“I don't know. A few days, maybe?”

“I think it was more like a hundred years!”

“Are you kidding me?” yelled Jason. “How are they just figuring this out now?”

On-screen Aang stepped on the line of wire, tripping the traps.

“Tt. Amateurs.”

"See, she told him it would be a bad idea!"

A flare rises through the air.

“That’s not going to cause any-”

“Oh, shut up Tim.”

The Fire Prince once again appeared on the screen.

“The last Airbender!”

“I was right,” he mumbled.

The screen faded to the credits, and Dick turned to the group.

“So? What do you think?”

“Slow.”

“Nobody has any sense.”

“Are any of the characters actually likable?”

He frowned. “Okay, okay, so the first episode isn’t the best. I swear it gets better. Back me up here Barb.”

Barbara nodded. “He’s right, it takes a few episodes to build the characters up and we see some genuine action. But by mid-season, I swear you’ll be hooked. And then we’ll get to season two and the best characters will arrive.”

“Hey,” Dick exclaimed, pointing a finger at her. “No spoilers.”

“I thought it was fun,” Marinette offered. “It’s very clearly a kid’s show, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing.” She wasn’t going to say each and every person in the room had childhood traumas, and a show full of lighthearted fun was probably just what they needed. She could think it, but she wouldn’t say it.   

“Thank you, Marinette,” said Dick with a smile.

“I rather enjoyed the elderly tea drinker,” intoned Alfred. “He’s more than he appears to be.”

“Uncle Iroh? Yeah, he’s the best!” commented Barbara. "But everyone is great." 

“Alright, episode one finished, nine more to go.”

“Let’s hope it’s more enjoyable than the last,” uttered Damian, a chorus of agreement followed his statement, but when the show started up everyone grew quiet again.

Marinette was sure whatever happened next, it was bound to be interesting.

Tag List (Although it is on ao3 too) 

@m3owww​ @your-resident-chimken-nuggie​  @loveswifi​ @fusser90​@animegirlweeb​​ @ihavehomeworkbutistillhere​​

[little-writings]

I HAVE READ THAT THE REQUESTS ARE OPEN AND I HOPE I AM NOT WRONG, can I request Jumin engaging with MC about the random talks she has with him? And like looking at her and thinking: with all the weirdness, she is still cute?? AND THANK YOU!!

Haha, this must’ve been a minute ago because I can’t remember the last time my requests were open fkdslfjkasd but they will be !! I just need to get all the prompts currently in my inbox finished, including this one! But regardless, I hope you have a marvelous day and enjoy! Thank you

———————————————————————————————————–

When Jumin first met you he’d noticed a few things. Of course several of those being your constant kindness, patience, and support of him. Jumin would never quite be able to express just how much that meant to him – how much you meant to him. 

However, he’d also noticed another, peculiar trait of yours. Your active imagination.

He’d never met someone whose mind wandered like yours did. They weren’t the prodding, incessant comments of 707 or ramblings from Yoosung to avoid his work. No, you just… thought about a variety of things. 

It’d first occurred during the afternoon, while Jumin was working. He’d just gotten out of a meeting, looking at the overview just to refresh his mind before he returned to his emails when you called. 

“Hi honey!” Your voice was a cheerful welcome to the otherwise monotonous day he’d been experiencing. “Would you help me with something?” 

Jumin chuckled. “Of course.” 

He’d assumed it’d be deciding your upcoming meal or an activity you’d planned for that afternoon. Something of a usual sort you could tell him about when he came home that evening. Instead, he got something, far different. 

“Do you think dinosaurs had feelings?” 

Jumin sat there a moment, stunned. “Do I… what?” 

You giggled softly. “I know it’s weird but I can’t get it out of my head! Probably because last time 707 visited he made me watch a bunch of dinosaur documentaries.” 

“Why did he do that?” 

“Because he cried watching one of the episodes late one night and wanted someone else to ‘know his pain’.” 

A grin tugged at Jumin’s lips. “That’s not very nice.” 

“No, but it got me thinking! Throughout the show whenever something bad happened the dinosaurs did look sort of sad! And I know they’re just animated, but do you think actual dinosaurs had feelings?” 

Jumin actually considered the question, moving aside his papers and thumping his fingers against the desk in thought. “I mean surely nothing beyond pure instincts, don’t you think?” 

“I thought that too but they do have complex behaviors – the documentaries said they did nesting, raised their young, and a lot of them traveled in packs! That’s got to mean something right?” 

Jumin leaned back in his seat. “In a sense, but plenty of animals do that today, and we don’t consider them to have complex emotions.” 

You laughed and Jumin could hear you falling against pillows. “Fair enough. Not everyone can be like Elizabeth 3rd.” She meowed at the mention of her name. 

“It’s an unfortunate fact.” 

A moment afterward you switched to the next topic that’d come to your mind. It was about the most interesting fact you’d learned about milk not actually being a pleasant drink for cats. Jumin had scribbled that somewhere in his notes for further research. Perhaps milk healthy for cats could be produced?

He found himself so caught up in your constant flow of thoughts he delayed a meeting, only realizing it was actually important when Jahee approached his desk and tapped the names upon the clipboard, urgently. 

“Oh. Thank you, it entirely slipped my mind.” Jumin brought the phone back up to his ear. “Can we continue this conversation when I get home? It should be just after this meeting.” 

“Of course!” You gasped, realizing the time that’d passed. “Can you tell Jahee I’m sorry for keeping you distracted?” 

She must’ve heard you over the phone because she simply nodded, failing to hide the tiniest smile on her fact upon you mentioning her name. 

“I’ll be sure to. I love you.” 

You softened. “I love you too.” 

Jumin came back home when the oranges, reds, and purples clearly painted the skies with the arrival of dusk. You were staring at the old culinary books Jumin’s grandmother had passed down to him years and years ago. He hardly used it, unless he wanted to burn down his home, but it held sentimental value. You weren’t an experienced chef by any means, but you’d taken up the difficult task of teaching Jumin – so far his most elaborate dish being macaroni. 

“Are we trying out a new recipe?” Jumin asked, approaching the dinner table where you sat. Your eyes scanned continuously from page to page and your index finger glided along with the pictures. He set a hand on your shoulder and leaned down to press a kiss on your head. 

You sat up with a faint ‘oh!’, turning around to face him. “I’m so sorry I just got completely lost in thought!” You scrambled to your feet, and Jumin chuckled at the display. Although he wasn’t opposed to the kisses you peppered him with. 

“What were you wondering?” He asked, having to fight against falling against you when you parted. 

“Well!” You tapped the pages of the old book. “Yoosung texted me after we got off the phone, asking if he should cook something or bake something, and I didn’t entirely get the difference, so I thought I’d look in these books!” 

“Did you find your answer?” 

You tipped your head from side to side. “Sort of, but it also just led to more questions?” 

Jumin sat down beside you and you told it all to him. At times you’d even talk a bit too fast for him to keep up, apologizing embarrassedly when Jumin would simply admit it was charming. He adored your excitement. 

Apparently, when you’d read in the books that cooking was “a method of preparing food by using heat,” while baking was “a method of preparing food by also using heat,” you were at least a little dumbfounded. 

Yoosung had said ‘there’s some difference but it’s not like I really know!’ 

So, without any other option, you took to the internet. The most ‘credible’ website you’d come across stated one was considered art while the other a science. That had only furthered your pit of confusion. 

“Why is cooking an art but baking a science? Why is there a difference?” You wrinkled your nose, huffing.

“There’s nothing in the books?” Jumin asked.

“Nothing! One question from Yoosung has ruined me!” 

Jumin grinned. “Down a rabbit hole are we?” 

“You’d want to join me?” 

He leaned forward, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket almost how one would roll up their sleeves. It was… vaguely dramatic. “You say that like I’d rather do anything else.” 

It never surprised you how long you could keep yourself distracted. 

Apparently, cooking was considered art because one could change the measurements and ingredients to one’s own will. Baking, on the other hand, was science for its need for accuracy. 

“That seems subjective,” Jumin remarked, staring at your phone screen where the website shined. “We baked that cake last month and didn’t follow the recipe exactly.”

“Didn’t it burn and taste like cardboard?” 

Jumin paused. “I – some people might like cardboard.” 

“You included?” 

“That would make sense given my abilities.” 

You took his hand and squeezed his palm, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “I love your cardboard cakes.” 

He never entirely wiped the smile that brought to his face. 

However, chaos ensued again in the home when the topic of ‘baking versus broiling’ appeared. How one could even compare the broiling of meat with the baking of pastries made you contemplate the concept of baking as a whole. And then the concept of concepts. It was a fascinating spiral. 

Jumin found himself simply listening as you raved, one hand held in your own and the other holding his chin. He’d never met someone so prone to contemplation. Usually, Jumin shoved all unnecessary thoughts to the back of his head but you not only accepted them you welcomed them. It brought out some of the most passion and enthusiasm Jumin had ever seen in someone. 

“Cute…” 

You paused in your tirade. You stared at Jumin with eyes widening to the size of saucers. “What?” 

“It’s cute, seeing you so impassioned. I always enjoy hearing your voice but I rarely witness you so riled up. It’s adorable.” 

You’d stopped dead in your tracks, red quickly taking over your cheeks. You ducked your head away in embarrassment. 

“You don’t have to hide.” Jumin chuckled. “We’re married!” 

“I know I just-” You turned back to him and revealed a smile stretching from ear to ear. “that makes me really happy – you make me really happy.” 

You were the only one who made it so easy to melt his heart. A gentle warmth like a candle flickered to life in his chest. Jumin brought your chairs even closer together – the faintest ‘clack’ of the seats as they bumped.

Jumin laughed. “Don’t get me started.” 

[anonymous0writer]

how you get the girl | wonderland s.s

author: @anonymous0writer

wc: 1946

warnings: none!

a/n: i literally wrote this right after the first because i love this so much

summary: as the heat rises, so does the curious tension between a certain green-eyed beauty and a handsome dark-haired boy. the impending end of their idyllic last summer looms, prompting stiles to admit a long-held secret.

The pale, smooth skyline of azure and the sprinkle of voluminous clouds lay over the horizon, the air thick with early summer humidity, the only relief a tepid breeze that snaked through the trees and appeared in short bursts like a shy child. Summer had grabbed Beacon Hills in a sudden burst of a heatwave and refused to let go; residents of the town taking to smaller clothes and long hauls to the beach for a break of the unbearable heat. Windows were down in cars, letting the speed of the car create the racing breeze that offered peace and houses had their AC’s turned up, people huddling in rooms to keep the heat at bay.

In the particular case of Lydia Martin and her friends, refuge was found in the small, prettily decorated guest house positioned off the clear blue watered pool of the Martin residence. The teens were slumped along the edge of the pool, legs dipped into the cool water in an attempt to cool themselves down.

Scott McCall sat at the pool’s edge, his mop of dark hair stuck to his forehead in sweaty clumps, the boy mumbling a soft curse before he tore off his thin shirt and leaned forward, dropping into the gleaming, turquoise pool with a loud, attention grabbing splash. His friends, a collection of girls and a boy best friend added to their tight circle of companions rose their brows and looked on in mild amusement. Scott’s dark head popped up from under the water, his lips breaking into a goofy, lopsided grin.

“It’s so nice.” He entices, grin still slanting across his face.

Delaney, her tall figure hunched and her long legs plunged into the refreshing, cerulean water, returned Scott’s infectious grin. In a hurried movement, she scrambled to her feet, her dark hair tied closely to the nape of her neck and her patterned, red swimsuit hugging her generous curves. Stiles covertly watches his friend with amber eyes, the memory of her lips crushed softly against his and her candied taste rushing over him a sudden waterfall. The dark-haired boy is pulled out of his reverie by the flying droplets of chilly water produced by Delaney’s cannonball into the wide pool. Stiles shakes off the memory with a comb through his thick, unruly umber colored hair, telling himself the tall beauty was drunk and didn’t appear to have any recollection of the delicately passionate moment. Some minuscule part of the boy wished that his feelings for Delaney were somehow reciprocated, but the sharp tang of alcohol on her lips crushed any foolishly childlike hope. Despite accidentally overhearing the news of Delaney and Brett’s inevitable breakup, Stiles saw how much his friend liked the broad shouldered lacrosse player. He was a fool for ever thinking anything different.

“Stiles!” The shriek of laughter snaps Stiles out of his daze again, Lydia’s mouth forming his name again as she beckons him to join the rest of their friends. Stiles studies the idyllic scene of his friends in a sentimental attempt to burn the memory in his mind, wishing to stay in this short second of time forever. Malia, her light hair pulled into two tight, now soaked braids, is seated on a laughing Scott’s broad, sun-kissed shoulders as his hands grip the curve of her thighs to stabilize his girlfriend. The couple is laughing and splashing wildly at a howling Delaney. Her dark hair came loose of its tie, the curls floating in the water as she tries to move sluggishly through the water to escape Scott’s sporadic splashing. Lydia is behind her, her hands clutching Delaney’s as the girls try to shield themselves. Stiles' tan face breaks into a beaming smile, the edges of his mouth tugging up and showing off his dimples. An ache to live forever in this idyllic moment forms under the pulse of his heart.

“Stiles, c’mon!” Scott encourages, his dark ochre eyes soft and welcoming.

Delaney looks up, her sage eyes watching as Stiles peels off his half-buttoned blue flannel, exposing the pale, freckled chest of his wiry frame and the sharp cut of his hips. A fierce blush rises to her freckled cheeks as the boy nimbly climbs into the crystal water. The haze clouded memory of Stiles’s soft, fluffy dark hair in her grasp and the lingering taste of his salty lips flashed in her mind, making her cheeks reach hotter temperatures than the humidity of the air. She knows the dark-haired boy remembers the kiss, but she wonders if he meant to kiss her back or if he was just caught up in the ‘we’re all leaving, so what matters anymore’ rationale. Delaney swallows sharply, turning her attention to the game of chicken being organized. Stiles offers to carry Delaney on his shoulders, choosing her as a teammate without a beat of hesitation. Delaney meets his coffee colored eyes for a charged second before she grabs his freckle spattered shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin against her palm. Once seated on his shoulders, she tilts violently to the left, but Stiles steadies her with his hands. His long fingers dig into the tan skin of her thighs, laughing as Delaney pats his damp hair in a gesture of thanks.

The inseparable group dissolves into laughter, enjoying the cool water to beat the heat of the short summer. The lingering threat of their assured end is shoved in the backs of their mind, using it to push themselves further into the moment. The five teens were desperate to outrun their doom.

___

The embers sparked and hovered dizzily around the flickering orange flames, casting dancing and flickering shadows of gold on the ground. The day had crawled away slowly, finding a hidden place to stay as the night descended around the sky, blanketing it in heavy dusk. Delaney lay tucked sleepily in a chair arranged before the sultry fire, limbs folded and sweatshirt obscured face leaning against the fabric back of the seat. Her dark, still damp hair was tied at the nape of her neck and falling out from under the scrunched edges of her hood. Her hands played idly with the frayed strings of the Cyclone hoodie that didn’t even belong to the chartreuse eyed girl. It was Stiles, the boy having given her his worn, and former lacrosse hoodie when the girl expressed the chill of the night air years ago and she’d failed to give it back. Delaney tugged the sweatshirt up to hide the bottom half of her face, imagining the dark-haired boy’s heady scent still lingering on the maroon, velvet-like fabric. Part of her knew she never made a real attempt to give the hoodie back, liking the way it fit on her curvaceous body and the way she could carry a piece of her favorite person around.

“Hey, Del?” Scott’s soft, low voice floats over her, prompting Delaney to lift her exhaustion-heavy head and peer at her friend. “We’re going inside, it’s cooling down. Wanna come?”

Scott was standing tall, dark eyes warm and kind as Lydia fluttered at his side; Malia already retired to the house and deeply asleep on the old pullout couch of Lydia’s basement. Stiles was still seated next to Delaney, the two staring in relaxed silence at the flickering flames of the slowly decaying fire. Delaney’s pale eyes slid to the boy next to her, watching to see if he made any twitch to move into the house, and when Stiles gave a soft shrug and continued his supervision to the glowing embers, Delaney refused gently.

“I’m good. We’ll go inside soon enough to watch the movie.”

Scott gave a nod and turned away, leaving Lydia to grin at her curled up best friend.

“Alright. Don’t stay too long, you may fall asleep.” Lydia jokes, a slanted smile gracing her pretty, delicate features.

Stiles’s coffee eyes trailed over Lydia’s features, studying her softly and giving her a small smile before the red-haired girl danced into the house with a swish of her hips. His eyes lingered, his reverie of the fire broken for a brief second by Lydia’s glorious presence.

“Stiles,” A soft plea of a voice came from the brunette next to him, her eyes worrying over him.

Stiles turns, finding Delaney already watching him, no doubt catching his rapacious gaze on their cherry haired friend. His cheeks blaze pink lightly, barely perceptible in the thick dark of the night. Stiles plows a hand through the thick locks of his dark hair, still sodden from the sun-filled hours spent in the turquoise waters of the large pool. He watches as Delaney blinks, her dark lashes fanning over the smooth plains of her cheeks slowly before she lifts her eyelids; which seems to take a strenuous amount of work by the speed of the flutter. Stiles’s breath hitches, the way it does when something snatches your breath greedily, sneaking it away as you take in the sight before you. A flash of Lydia’s perfectly serene and porcelain appearance flickers in his mind, crashing with the charming innocence of Delaney and the exhaustion tugging at her actions. Suddenly, Stiles is caught between them two, suspended between the devoted years of yearning for the beloved ginger and the sense of serene happiness and unrelenting comfort from the dark-haired beauty. Stiles swallows thickly, forcing the war of attention from his mind and refocuses desperately on the flare of the dying fire.

“Do you want to play something?” Delaney’s soft voice lures him farther into the pull of her magnetism.

“Like what?”

“Twenty questions? Something that doesn’t require me to move.”

“Sure.” Stiles agrees, leaning further back in his seat, feeling the heat of the fire shimmer over him in pleasant waves. His sepia eyes flutter close, drinking in the night with his other senses. “What are you thinking of right now?”

Delaney’s pink lips quirked up at the corners, her dimples showing softly. Stiles loved to remake games, except this time these were just straight up questions instead of making it more complex. She leaned her own head back, closing her pale eyes and relaxed, letting the exhaustion from the day’s activities calm her.

“I’m thinking about you.”

“And what about me?”

“Is that another question, Stiles?” Delaney laughed, the sound sweet and short, hovering in the air. “You know you only have twenty.”

A beat of silence followed before Stiles’s soft, raspy voice answered. “What about me?” He repeated.

“Do you like Lydia?”

The question hung in the air, a pivotal moment of truth that could alter their relationship in ways they couldn’t have imagined. Delaney’s throat was tight, her question a risky plea that flew right over Stiles’s head. Stiles didn’t realize Delaney’s secret attempt at revealing her feelings despite how poorly she hid it; raw emotions and the truth written over her olive skin. Her sage eyes scan Stiles’s profile, optimism playing in her irises like a splash of black paint against a white wall; stark and obvious. Stiles turns to face her, russet eyes locking onto hers as they stare at each other. Hope catches in the girl’s throat, hard and dangerous. Stiles’s eyes run over his best friend, slow and steady as if he’s trying to figure out the answer from her face. As the brunette boy stares, he’s lost. Fallen in the depths of Delaney’s charm and small, gregarious smiles and easy nature. The boy can’t stop himself from getting pulled into her orbit, and at this moment, he doesn’t try to stop it. He loses the fight gladly, finding peace in the solidarity of his best friend. At this moment, Delaney is the only answer. Delaney is the answer.

“No, I like you, Delaney.”

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 2, chapter 2

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Content warnings: non-sexual noncon touch mention, just a tiny taste of drugging (fade to black)

Once Jerhyn had bemusedly agreed to Morgan's request for a more private meeting, just the two men and two watchful guards, things went much more smoothly. He'd been able to properly explain the situation with the dark wanderer, and the sultan had divulged a story passed down through the royal family concerning the imprisonment of a great evil within a tomb deep in the desert. The story had unfortunately been rather shy on specifics, but that proved to be a convenient segue into an inquiry about the city archives. They were housed on the other side of the city, staffed by a small team of dedicated archivists. Jerhyn assured him that they would be happy to welcome his inquiries. Lut Gholein was proud of its history.

After that was settled, it had been simple enough to convince Jerhyn that his time would be better spent searching for the source of the demonic activity rather than just reacting to it. He'd promised to share whatever he learned with the mercenaries and the local clergy, which had apparently been something of a surprise. Jerhyn had reassured him quickly that yes, of course the priests of Akarat would be keen to know more, he simply hadn't expected an outsider to consider that angle. Luckily, he seemed content to drop the issue there. There were few enough places that welcomed the Order of Rathma with open arms, and Morgan did not wish to test the hospitality of this one if he could avoid it.

He also made it clear that he was not affiliated with Blaise in any meaningful capacity, and that her considerable skills were her own to direct. After all she had done for him, it was the least he could offer in return. The mention of her got a chuckle out of the palace guards. Apparently she had arisen quite early and demanded an audience with the commander, who did not appreciate being roused. He apparently hadn't expected her to accept his cranky, blustering challenge to a test of her fighting skills, and had expected even less to be soundly beaten. So she had already earned her rank and a great deal of respect. Morgan noted that news seemed to travel quite fast in this city. At any rate, he was glad to hear she was doing well for herself.

All in all, the meeting had been a great success. Pleased with the progress so far, Morgan set out to explore the city. It was one of the largest he'd ever visited. Its centre was dominated by a sprawling marketplace spilling over with all manner of vendors. The sounds and smells were a little much to handle all at once. He would be able to manage brief excursions, but it would definitely be draining. Luckily, the archives were located away from the market. It would probably be possible to avoid the marketplace by taking the smaller side streets, once he got a better picture of the city's layout.

As promised, the archivists were polite and accommodating. After a brief tour, one of them even introduced herself as a local historian. She sat with Morgan for about an hour, patiently answering his questions as best she could. Her specialization was in more recent history, but she was at least able to fill in some of the details. The tomb from the royal family's story was that of Tal Rasha, a powerful mage who had died imprisoning a great evil. The identity of the evil sealed away was apparently the subject of some academic debate, as was the actual location of the tomb. On one hand, that meant there was plenty of reference material. On the other hand, it also meant that there were likely to be a lot of false leads. That was fine by Morgan, though; he enjoyed puzzles, and if he could approach the research from that angle, so much the better.

He settled himself in with a small collection of texts to start with. The archivists took turns checking on him about once an hour, then less often as it became clear he wasn't going anywhere. At one point the historian brought him a cup of wonderful-smelling spiced tea, which he thanked her for and promptly forgot about until after it was stone cold. It had gotten strong and bitter, but it sufficed to get him through another few hours of reading. All the parties seemed to agree that the tomb had been surrounded by a multitude of identical fakes, though estimations ranged in the exact number of those, and guesses as to what distinguished the true tomb varied wildly. It made for fascinating reading, and nobody bothered him except to helpfully point out the storeroom where the oil for the lamps was stored.

It occurred to Morgan about fifteen minutes later that the bit about the lamps had probably been a cue. He approached the archivist ready to apologize for overstaying his welcome. She reassured him that although they generally closed overnight, that restriction would be waived due to him being on royal business. That was welcome news, though he didn't recall mentioning the sultan's request. However, now that he had stood and moved around a bit, it was becoming clear that it was time to seek out a meal.

After confirming which materials he was permitted to borrow - enough to get him through the night, anyway - he left with a heavy pack and directions to a tavern that sounded promising for both food and local knowledge. Although it was his least favoured method of gathering information, it was inescapable fact that people often knew little tidbits that weren't considered important enough to record. Sometimes those scraps of information could prove vital, so he would seek them out as best he could.

Since artificial lighting was readily available and he'd been granted unfettered access to the archives, it was easy for Morgan to slip into a more nocturnal schedule. He spent the hottest part of the days sleeping or meditating in his room at the palace, slowly but surely expanding his magical reserves and refreshing his training in emotional control. That left the mornings and evenings to canvass the locals for information, and the long cool nights to pore over materials in the archives.

None of the merchants or inn staff were able to provide any useful leads, but he had received a plethora of advice on how best to avoid and treat sunburn, including several referrals to a local alchemist. It was something of a relief that his complexion seemed to be regarded as more of a curiosity than a deformity here. The alchemist in question was called Lysander, and he operated his stall by the edge of the marketplace. He was a pleasant, professional man who did not question Morgan when he requested one of each different analgesic preparation in his arsenal. Not one of them had any effect on the pain in his injured arm. That was disappointing; it would have been preferable to chalk up the earlier failures to some sort of error in the preparation on his part, but Lysander was highly regarded and very unlikely to be selling faulty product.

A couple of days in, Morgan was pleased to encounter Cain on his way to the archives. The scholar seemed genuinely interested in his research, and soon began joining him. It was unexpectedly nice to have the quiet company, a companionable silence settling comfortably between them. It was also its own kind of luxury to stay within the city, to be able to go about his business with just the clothes on his back and perhaps a coin purse instead of having to bring everything with him.

The room where he left his things was... well, it was a unique but overall tolerable situation. As promised, none of the other members of the harem guild gave him so much as a second glance, which was a relief. Jemali continued to be aggressively flirtatious, but at least he generally honoured his agreement about physical contact. He was naturally expressive with his hands, so Morgan resigned himself to the occasional touch on the arm or shoulder when he got too close to the other man.

Attempts to explain the prickling discomfort of being touched didn't seem to stick. He supposed the courtesan had little enough reason to care. Most often he retreated to Morgan's room to rest, snatching a brief nap in between whatever else he was doing. Sometimes he would talk about his work. Morgan wasn't especially fond of those times, but thankfully Jemali seemed to want an outlet more than a conversation partner.

The priests of Akarat had given Morgan a warm enough reception, though he'd been careful to avoid mention of his own profession beyond working for the sultan. They made it clear that unless his work produced substantive results, they were not at all interested in learning about his research. That was agreeable for all parties, he felt.

Occasionally, Morgan would venture out into the desert surrounding the city. He quickly learned to spot the signs of the various aggressive insects that seemed to thrive in the desert environment, from the particular patterns the enormous beetles left in the sand to the nearly invisible hives that housed swarms of blood-hungry flies. There were other creatures as well, but the insects were the most dangerous; they didn't take any notice of any golems he raised, interested only in living flesh and blood. At least the misshapen things that might once have been related to vultures, and the occasional undead, could be distracted by his constructs.

He'd managed to locate a few tombs, all in various states of disrepair. Unsurprising, really, given their distance from the city and the aggressive fauna surrounding them. Similar to what he'd seen with Andariel, the dead inside were risen and restless. Fortunately, the supplies he needed to lay them back to rest were easy enough to come by. Lysander raised his eyebrows at Morgan's requests for specific oils but produced them without further comment. There was generally little else of interest in the tombs, but it felt pleasantly useful to be able to carry out these small acts of service to punctuate the long stretches of information gathering.

He was learning much about Lut Gholein - the infrastructure of desert waypoints was particularly interesting, like portals but in fixed locations - but next to nothing about the tomb of Tal Rasha, even with Cain's help. The evidence leaned toward Baal, Lord of Destruction, being the evil that was contained within it. Unfortunately, most references to its location had either been removed or redacted. It made sense for the tomb to be hidden, to prevent grave robbers from targeting it and unwittingly unleashing Baal onto the world. That was a sensible precaution which also happened to make his current objective much more difficult. It wasn't as though he could actually track the dark wanderer through the desert; the wanderer was much too far ahead for that thanks to Morgan's long convalescence. Any traces would have long since been erased. He had to find the tomb some other way.

From time to time Blaise stopped in, usually staying for just a minute or two to share the latest news from the mercenaries. Perhaps she'd been asked to keep communications open. It was a little unusual that it was never any of the other mercenaries, but Morgan wasn't about to complain. Known allies were always preferable to strangers.

Morgan was on his way to the archives one night, later than usual. He hadn't realized how late it had gotten while he'd been reading until the oil lamp had guttered out. Rather than refill it in the dark and risk waking Jemali, who had fallen fast asleep on the bed after airing some complaints about a particularly demanding client, he decided to take his research elsewhere.

He liked the city at night. Everything was softer, the smells of the marketplace just lingering memories, the last of the vendors packed up for the day, the chatter and bustle stilled. If he sat still for long enough, one of the innumerable stray cats would find the courage to rub hopefully against his ankles. He'd made the mistake of feeding one of them once, and they'd not forgotten. They were charming little opportunists. None of them were around this evening, though. Perhaps they'd found someone with a steadier supply of food for them, he thought as he turned down a narrow street. It was nice to imagine they were being cared for.

"Hey," a voice called out softly from somewhere above. "Pale one." Morgan looked up to see a man raising a hand in greeting from a second storey window. The voice was vaguely familiar. "You ever find what you were looking for?" Ah, it was one of the many people he'd tried asking for information. Nothing in particular made this one stand out from the rest, as far as he could tell. People often blurred together, and he was too far away to see the man's face clearly.

"Good evening. I'm making some progress."

"Well, good luck with that. Akarat guide you."

"And you."

The man retreated inside and Morgan resumed walking. He followed the street to its intersection, gazing up at the skyline to orient himself with the looming silhouettes of the palace and the city gates. The streets were mazelike at times, and he still hadn't determined the fastest route across the city from the palace to the archives. Maybe if he tried taking the left fork this time...

The sharp sting of an insect bite interrupted his musing. He swatted at his neck, annoyed. The damned things were usually less active after dusk, but there was no real escape. For half a second, he was confused by the unfamiliar feeling under his fingers. Why would an insect be made of metal, he thought fuzzily as the world tilted around him. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

[this-haunting-hunger]

fic: don’t take this haunting home - IV

Wei Ying lives with many ghosts. It’s usually not a problem. He used to be one himself, after all. However, ghosts have one glaring fault, and it is this: they are, by definition, people who refuse to stay completely dead.

And as far as Wei Ying is concerned, some dead people should stay that way.

Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four

Content: angst, violence, ghosts

Pairing: Wangxian

Length: 7.2k

read on ao3

//

Waking up is no harder than being resurrected. Which is to say, it is very hard and kinda nauseating and absolutely disorienting and could he maybe go back to being unconscious? There’s a song drifting at the edge of his awareness, all strings and silver, a soft, cradling presence that makes it seem like staying awake might just be bearable. For several minutes, as the music wraps around him, he lets himself sink into it, into the warm embrace of something familiar but enigmatic. A story he used to know but whose ending he’s forgotten. Let me stay, he finds himself thinking, and doesn’t understand why. Please, let me stay.  

Consciousness is relentless. No matter how hard he tries to push it away, it just comes back, nudges him with ever firmer insistence. Like a mangy dog, burying its cold nose against his skin. A groan peels through his too-dry lips – the music stops – and it feels like his soul is separating from his body with the pitiful sound. Like if he breathes too hard, he’s going to end up losing whatever churned up mess is inside. And gods, that will not be pretty for anyone involved.

Anyone involved… Who is involved? With another low moan, he reaches up, prods tenderly at his forehead. It seems to be distinctly Wei Ying shaped, which is a weird enough discovery to pry his eyes open. He’s greeted by a very welcome face, and a much less welcome surge of pain and dizziness as the light stabs at him.

Since the face has been seared on the insides of his eyelids for years now and he doesn’t fear losing it in the next few minutes, Wei Ying shuts his eyes again. The blackness is a pleasant balm to the pain, though the dizziness seems to have lodged itself into his brain.

“Lan Zhan,” he rasps, only slightly more pathetically than he feels. “Ah, Lan Zhan, I swear I didn’t steal the Emperor’s Smile this time.”

There’s no verbal response, but a hand catches his wrist, fingers skimming gently along his skin until they find what they’re looking for and press more firmly against his meridian line. It would be soothing, that touch, if it didn’t almost feel like it was pushing against someone else’s flesh. The transfer of energy is more familiar, though, ticklish and light and refreshing, and Wei Ying’s eyes flutter before he forces them open again.

It would be altogether too selfish to let himself enjoy the elegant lines of Lan Zhan’s face for a few moments… but oh, it is tempting. Even when those lines are just a trifle too sharp, a little too slanted, his lips pressed a bit too hard together. Even angry, Lan Zhan’s beauty is a visceral thing, summoning a bloom of warmth in the pit of Wei Ying’s stomach, and honestly, he should have more near-death experiences just for the pleasure of waking up to that leaning over him.

Of course, near death or not, Lan Zhan is very often nearby when he wakes up. It’s just that the looming thing is kind of sexy.

But because he is not selfish – and because the anger has something guilty and anxious swarming up his throat – Wei Ying swallows hard and tries to sit up. Lan Zhan immediately puts his free hand on his chest and keeps him pinned, though the man isn’t meeting his gaze, eyes fixed elsewhere. Wei Ying thinks he has nice wrists, but probably not nice enough to warrant them being stared at for thirty or so seconds.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, trying to delicately pry the hand from his chest. It doesn’t move. Even when his other hand joins in the attempt, with Lan Zhan’s fingers still curled around his wrist, he can’t get the other man to shift. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whines, mainly because the Chief Cultivator still isn’t really looking at him.

“Rest,” is his companion’s flat insistence. It’s not the good kind of flat, either, the kind that is steady and stable and extends forever. It’s the kind that makes Wei Ying feel like he’s going to fall, with absolutely nothing to stop the downward slide.

He wilts, dizziness still swimming across his vision. Head falling back onto the bed, Wei Ying keeps his hands clasped around Lan Zhan’s forearm as he murmurs, “I’m glad to see you.”

There’s a pause, a silence that’s too deep, too thick, too easy to suffocate in, and he almost has time to be really, truly afraid. Almost. But not quite. Because then Lan Zhan is replying, in a voice that nearly breaks, “As am I. Wei Ying, you…” Extra pressure from the hand still pressed against his chest, a tightness in the fingers wound around his wrist. They’re the only physical signs of the aggravation Wei Ying knows the other is feeling. It all comes to nothing. “How are you feeling?” his lover asks, as though that were really what he had been about to say.

It’s – almost frustrating. He almost wishes Lan Zhan would let loose the anger, set out accusations in neat little rows, if only so Wei Ying could knock them all asunder. How is he supposed to be chaotically endearing if there’s nothing to whirlwind his way through?

“I’m feeling well rested,” is his response, a trifle more than a trifle obnoxious, and also a lie. A line actually appears between Lan Zhan’s fine eyebrows, which means Wei Ying is really making some progress on the maddening front. Partly because he knows it will annoy the other man, but mainly because he’s genuinely puzzled, he changes the topic. “How did you get here? And where is here, anyways?”

The room they’re in is a generic one, at least from what Wei Ying can tell when he cranes his neck, still unable to sit up because of a certain stubborn someone. One window is letting in a good deal of light, and the place is clean but largely unadorned. A simple bed, a nondescript table with plain sitting cushions, unadorned sectioning screens, little in the way of decoration. It’s also ghost-free, which may or may not be a good thing, but it’s a thing his head is throbbing too much to think about. At least for the next few minutes.

He hasn’t received an answer, but nonetheless he knows. “An inn, right? Which one?”

“Tiantan.”  

The village at the foot of Suntouched Sanctuary. The one he’d passed through this morning. Or – actually, he has no idea how long it’s been since his feet took him up towards the temple. That’s a realization that has disorientation tumbling down his spine, counting out each vertebra like there might be a few too many jammed in there. He wiggles uncomfortably at the thought, and decides he’s probably let Lan Zhan steep in his protective anger for long enough.

Relinquishing his grip on the other man’s arm, he reaches up, trails his fingers over the exposed hollow of Lan Zhan’s throat, brushing back little strands of silky black hair to bare the skin better. His lover doesn’t pull away, and the quizzical half-tilt of his head, the swallow that Wei Ying can feel through the pads of his fingers, they have a helpless little sound stirring behind Wei Ying’s lips. Gods, how can anyone so beautiful be so charming, too? He resists his impulse to wax eloquent about Lan Zhan’s many virtues and says instead, “You know, if you’re so determined to keep me in bed, I can think of a few ways you might convince me to stay.”

It’s light enough in the room to see Lan Zhan’s pupils flare, dark and intent in the splash of sun spilling across his austere face. His throat convulses, another hard swallow, and for half a second, he leans in closer, unbound hair tickling Wei Ying’s face. It looks like he’s actually thinking about what he could do to keep Wei Ying obediently in place. Wei Ying’s body tenses, an automatic response to the smoldering expression, and it occurs to him that he really could think of a few things they could do on this bed. They’re so close right now, the least they could do was kiss…

Lan Zhan’s frustrated exhale puffs against his lips, and then the other man is straightening and backing away. Wei Ying doesn’t bother hiding his disappointed pout, which, given that his masterplan had been to get Lan Zhan to let him up, is a bit ridiculous. Whatever. No one has ever called the Yiling Patriarch a fount of Maturity and Constancy; he sees no reason to get them started now.

“You nearly died. You think I’d want to do… anything… after that?” Lan Zhan’s voice is so strangled with indignation that it’s somewhat funny, and Wei Ying has to stifle his rash impulse to point out that Lan Zhan certainly did want to do something, if only for a moment.

Quickly discarding his disappointment in favour of a smug grin, he sits up before Lan Zhan can change his mind. He only regrets it by about ninety percent when his stomach immediately lurches, nausea and dizzy pain warring for supremacy. The dizziness wins – thankfully – and, swallowing the urge to retch, he swings his legs over the side of the bed. He even (almost) manages to persuade himself that there hadn’t been a moment, half a second or less, when he’d thought his legs might not respond, given that they still don’t feel entirely like his legs. Nothing about this body feels entirely his, right now. A familiar sensation, but one aggravated by his use of Empathy.   

“Wei Ying…”

Ignoring that, he straightens, rolls his shoulders, mainly to convince himself that he has the ability to do so. Giving the room a more careful scan, he notes Lan Zhan’s guqin settled on the low table. The sight of the beautiful instrument has his throat closing, and it takes him a moment to realize why. The music that had been playing – the cursive, melodic trail he had followed out of the wrenching blackness of Wen Zhuliu’s despair – belonged to those strings. And those strings belong to Lan Zhan. Of course he feels like crying.

Of course he doesn’t cry. “Have you seen a spirit recently?” he asks instead, because really, that should take priority over his ripped up insides. “About this tall,” Lan Zhan’s eyes follow his vague hand gesture, “and really grim? You might recognize him, though it’s been a few –”

“Wen Zhuliu,” the other man says. “Yes. He was near when I found you. After you came back from Empathy...” There’s a pause, stagnant with more words that his beloved won’t say, and Wei Ying shifts restlessly, trying not to picture what pitiful state Lan Zhan had probably found him in. Trying not to remember the gut wrenching desperation in the voice that had called him back. “He disappeared when the connection broke. I’ve had the disciples preparing wards to ensure he cannot attack here.”

That distracts him. “The disciples? The – you brought some of the Lans? Who?”

An impassive expression. “Lan Jingyi, Lan Sizhui, Lan Feiyan, Lan Keung. Clan Leader Jin, who was visiting on Sect business, also demanded to come.”

“The kids? You brought the kids!?”

“Wei Ying.” For the first time since Wei Ying has woken up, Lan Zhan’s stone faced glower softens into something awfully close to amusement. “They are not children, despite your insistence on calling them as such.”

His hands flap dismissively. Semantics! “They’re younger than me,” he says by way of explanation, conveniently ignoring the fact that in some ways, he’s not truly much older than they are. “They’re also innocents! Defenseless idiots! How could you bring them into something like this?” If he had been on the sharp side of panic at the thought of Lan Zhan confronting Wen Zhuliu, that’s nothing compared to the gristly fear currently grinding up his insides at the prospect of the juniors being thrown into the mix. 

“It will be a learning experience,” Lan Zhan replies placidly. “Besides, I am here. Does Wei Ying think the Chief Cultivator is incapable of confronting this spirit? Of defending those he’s sworn to protect?” By the end of that, his voice has sharpened, and the very fact that he’s referring to himself by his title shows how upset he is.

“Of course not,” Wei Ying replies instantly. “If I had to choose anyone to be at my side, anyone at all, it would be you. It’s always you.” He leans forward as he says it, the truth of what he’s insisting stark in his eyes, and his lover doesn’t look away.

“Yet you chose to face this alone. You used Empathy alone, despite knowing how dangerous it is.”

Resisting the urge to wince, thankful that Lan Zhan is willing to speak about what’s hurting him and not bottle it up, Wei Ying smiles ruefully. “And that decision worked out so well. I’m… I might have made a mistake. A small one.”

“That almost got you killed.”

“But lucky for me, I have a handsome cultivator ready to swoop in to save me from demons and ghouls and such.” There’s no budge in his companion’s flat expression – not yet – and Wei Ying curbs his levity. “Ah, Lan Zhan, it’s not that I didn’t want you by me. It’s not that I didn’t think you could protect me from Wen Zhuliu. It’s just…” Lan Zhan is still watching him quietly, and he can’t help but reach out a hand, hopeful and yet a little breathless with apprehension, even after all this time.  

The other man doesn’t hesitate to entwine their fingers, and a second later he joins Wei Ying on the bed. Lan Zhan pulls their clasped hands into his lap, a seemingly unconscious gesture, as unconscious as the way he traces gentle lines across Wei Ying’s knuckles. “It’s just…” he prompts patiently, and gods, what did Wei Ying do to deserve such a man by his side? Perhaps he’d been a Saviour of the People in a previous life.

Not in this one, though. Shame creeps along his shoulders, making them hunch, and the raw vulnerability he feels, drawn out by Lan Zhan’s touch, is no less humiliating. Share his fear? Share his pain? Put yet another burden on the Chief Cultivator, as though Wei Ying deserves to be relieved of this weight? The urge to joke – to lie – wavers uneasily on his tongue.

But this, at least, is a habit Wei Ying has learned to restrain. For Lan Zhan, at least. “It’s just…” His free hand gropes along his sternum, like it could sink through his skin and cradle the pit of energy within. “I saw Jiang Cheng without his core, and I saw what it did to him. And when I gave my core to him...” He laughs, but the sound is hollow, and the smile he affixes to his lips is a reflex more than anything. “Lan Zhan, I know people called me a mad dog back then, but truly, sometimes, when I felt the emptiness inside me, well, they were not as wrong as they usually tended to be. I suppose even fools must be right once in a decade, hmm?” He laughs again and the sound rattles through the room before dying.

Lan Zhan is very, very still. He is not moving at all, except for his thumb, still stroking Wei Ying’s fingers. It is a stress response in reaction to grief and guilt for a tragedy long passed. It’s not a judgement. Wei Ying knows this, yet he still feels restless, restive, waiting for his lover to chide him for his thoughts and weakness. Deliberately careless retorts stack on his tongue, ready to topple off and dismiss what he just said, to reassure with a chuckle that the gouges in his soul are nothing.

Yet the man next to him does not offer a reproach. After a long moment, he just shifts, leans his shoulder lightly into Wei Ying. “You were afraid,” he observes quietly, and Wei Ying stiffens at the implication. Before he can argue, though, Lan Zhan shakes his head, a miniscule movement. “For me,” is his clarification.

Wei Ying is quick to agree to that as he relaxes. In his own way. This is swiftly becoming cloying, and he’s eager to move on. Not because he doesn’t want Lan Zhan to know he cares – that’s a battle he’s glad he lost more than a decade ago – but because there is pain in the tightness of his partner’s lips, and Wei Ying is so tired of this phantom ache that neither of them have healed. So… jokes.  

"What would we do if Wen Zhuliu took your core, and you couldn't cast the Silence Spell? I don’t know if our bond could survive the stress."

Lan Zhan does not laugh, or even smile. His intense stare might have been unsettling for someone else, and it had been unnerving for Wei Ying in a different time and place. Now, however, he basks in the attention, in the fierce devotion that inspires such a focus. "Wei Ying," Lan Zhan says, "I understand."  

As ever, he cuts straight to the heart of the matter, accepts without the need or desire to dwell on it. Before Wei Ying can be appropriately grateful for that forgiveness, the other man adds, "Next time, tell me. Whatever it is."

"Ah, Lan Zhan, I don't think we'll have the misfortune to meet two Wen Zhuliu ghosts in this lifetime."

A light furrow appears on his lover's forehead, and his posture, already immaculate, somehow becomes even straighter. "Wei Ying, promise me. Whatever it is next time, you'll tell me."

So the stare, as it turns out, can still be a bit unsettling for Wei Ying. He looks away, squirms in his seat and then makes to get up. Lan Zhan still has his hand, however, and the man's grasp is an anchor, forcing him to stay in place. "Wei Ying," he repeats, as close to an anxious entreaty as Lan Zhan ever gets.

Despite being a bit of an escape artist extraordinaire, the Yiling Patriarch is helpless to evade the sincerity of that plea. Huffing, he slouches back on to the bed and pouts. "Aish, fine. Next time I'll drag you with me to hell or wherever I end up."

It is a little bit ridiculous, how pleased the Chief Cultivator looks to be told such a thing. Wei Ying senses a shift in the room, a subtle loosening that means, once again, he’s been believed. Lan Zhan is not a simpleton, nor even particularly naïve, but he does have a tendency to think promises are not, in fact, made to be broken, and a habit of believing everyone else must think the same.       

Lan Zhan hums, whether in pleasure or conciliation, it's hard to say. Either way, the sharp lines of his face have softened, and the tension in his fingers has faded away. With a light snort, Wei Ying returns the pressure with his shoulder, the contact grounding him, letting the fear and guilt die down to a low flicker.

He still feels horrible, but at least it's only his body this time around.

"Speaking of our bond... I don't think it's quite strong enough to let you track me down. How'd you end up finding me?"

The smile is finally there, and Wei Ying had long ago learned to love the subtleties of that barely perceptible quirk, the slight tempering that so many people are likely to overlook.

Although he appreciates it slightly less when it’s at his expense.

“Lan Jingyi was to receive punishment for his actions during the Summer Recital of Values,” Lan Zhan explains calmly, as if that cleared up everything. Wei Ying truly doesn’t know how the young man had gathered so many butterflies, not to mention kept them concealed and unharmed until the moment he’d set them loose throughout the Chamber of Orchids, but he suspects there were accomplices. He also doesn’t know what the lecture-halting prank has to do with the Chief Cultivator finding him.

Seeing his befuddled pout, Lan Zhan’s smile grows by at least a millimeter. It’s dangerously close to being a smirk, now. Bastard. “Wei Ying encourages flexible punishments. I gave Lan Jingyi the choice between writing out the Values four hundred times, or keeping me appraised of your whereabouts and actions. He chose very quickly.”

Clutching dramatically at his chest, Wei Ying gasps, “You got him to spy on me? Isn’t that against the Lan Clan rules? What was the one… ‘Do not take part in dishonest practices.’”

“Be loyal,” Lan Zhan replies without hesitation. “Perform acts of chivalry. Believe sincerely.”

Wei Ying shakes his head. “Ah, Lan Zhan, I have been a bad influence. Lan Qiren would beat us both to hear you degrading the Values by actually thinking about their contradictions.”

The other man’s face loses some of its amusement, eyebrows furrowing in solemn contemplation, and Wei Ying has a moment to regret what was supposed to be a joke. However, Lan Zhan doesn’t seem upset. More softly than before, but more firmly too, the Chief Cultivator quotes, “Do not fail to carry out your promise.”

Their eyes meet, then, and Wei Ying thinks about a sky filled with floating lanterns, about hands clasped under his chin in fervent, naïve prayer. Of Lan Zhan, by his side even then. No regrets. "One of the Jades of Lan could not possibly fail at anything, let alone their promises," he jokes, but means it all the same. Lan Zhan might think differently, but the man has never failed him. Not on a mountain, or anywhere else.

That is not a path he wants to go down, however, so he draws himself up with officious huffiness. “Never mind. That brat has been tailing me? How could I not have noticed?”

“Lan Jingyi is very wily when motivated. Besides, I believe he has mostly followed your tracks, not your presence.”

Head cocking, finger going up to rub at his nose, Wei Ying stares narrowly at the Chief Cultivator. Lan Zhan gives nothing away, ghost of a smile still playing across his lips as he waits for Wei Ying to figure out what he means. Very smug. Very bastardly. And all in such an upright way, it’s impossible to challenge him on it.

Besides, Wei Ying’s attention is caught by the quandary. It takes a long moment, sorting through his mind what he’s done in the last month or so that could possibly count as tracks, but eventually it dawns on him. “The library. He asked Lan Kuan what scrolls I requested!”

A shallow nod is all the confirmation he needs, and he throws up his hands in disgust, ignoring the way it makes his head pulse with pain. He had spent weeks in the library, trying to determine where Wen Zhuliu’s former home was located, and, after he thought he'd figured it out, the best route to get there. He'd also familiarized himself with cases of non-aggressive hauntings, and situations where a cultivator's power continued even after death. It hadn’t occurred to him while researching that the old man who helped him wade through Cloud Recesses’ mountains of scrolls might tip off where he was going. “Aish! Lan Kuan, that doddering meddler!”

“Elder Lan Kuan is your senior, and a respected member of Gusu Lan Clan,” Lan Zhan says disapprovingly. He’s about to say more, no doubt a thrilling if stilted lecture about propriety and appropriate deference to the elderly, when they both hear something. A soft rustle at the screen doors, followed by a sharp inhale, more discrete rustling, and then silence.

Pointing at the door, Wei Ying grins. Anyone else would miss the way his lover inclines his head by just a little, but it’s all the benediction Wei Ying needs. Still smiling, maybe a trifle too evilly, he declares abruptly, “At any rate, Jingyi will pay! I’ll have spirits moan outside his bedroom for a month, at least!”

There’s a pause as Lan Zhan decides whether he actually wants to participate, and then the Chief Cultivator blandly comments, “That would be disruptive to the other disciples.”

“Then I’ll make him eat congee for weeks! Let’s see him spy on me when there’s a hole through his tongue!”  

It’s impossible to say if his learning-to-be-lenient lover would have continued the prank, because there’s a yelp from behind the door, followed by someone else’s wordless protest.

“You lunatic! Don’t you dare!” The exclamation comes as the screen is violently slid open, and three people are revealed, two latched on to the other’s white robes and trying to drag him away. Jingyi won’t be held back, however, and he points accusingly at Wei Ying. "Eating your cooking is a worse punishment than copying the Values ten thousand times!"

While Wei Ying gasps in affront like such a comment could actually wound him, Jingyi spins around. "Hanguang Jun," he says in desperate appeal, "I was just doing what you asked. Don't let this lunatic get me!"

Meanwhile, the two people who had tried to stop him from entering the room have relinquished their grip on his robe and now stand in sheepish silence. Lan Sizhui looks properly remorseful for the spying and interruption – and probably feels that way, too – while Jin Ling is just embarrassed and, to judge from his expression, getting sullen about it.

The Hanguang Jun in question hardly looks at the trio, just rises from the bed and puts his arm behind his back with elegant grace. He says nothing and, with the light from the window shining on his perfect form, accentuating the pale blue designs on his white inner robe, he looks like a god removed from them all. Stern, implacable, and hugely unimpressed with the shenanigans of mortals.

Of course, from where he's standing, Wei Ying can just make out a quirk of oh-so-pretty lips, and he rather suspects the reason Hanguang Jun isn't looking at the kids is to avoid any of them noticing his amusement.

"Hanguang Jun, we are sorry. We were coming to report that we've finished our preparations, and we heard you talking and didn't want to interrupt, so..." Sizhui's voice isn't meek or cringing; it's the steady cadence of a man admitting to his wrong.

Or Wei Ying is just a bit biased when it comes to the disciple.

Jin Ling lifts his chin. "Does Gusu Lan Sect own this inn, huh? Why shouldn't we go where we choose?"

"Be polite," Sizhui mutters, which just goes to show that Jin Ling's elevation to Clan Leader didn't destroy the bonds between them; the ever-polite Lan disciple wouldn't have chided a leader otherwise.

With a scowl, Jin Ling is about to reply with something no doubt unflattering, but Wei Ying cuts in. "You mean you choose to lurk in hallways, Jin Ling? Very strange."

The younger man flushes, but it's Lan Zhan's turn to interrupt. "Sizhui. Everything is prepared?"

"Ah, yes, Hanguang Jun. We've assembled the wards and created a watch schedule. The others are downstairs, making final preparations." So, in Wei Ying’s experience, they’re taking the opportunity to goof off away from Lan Zhan’s somber eyes. As much as Lan Clan disciples ever goof off.  

"I still don't see why we're bothering to ward against some random spirit," Jingyi mumbles, probably not purposefully loudly enough for them all to hear. Jin Ling bobs his head in agreement.

Lan Zhan is unmoved, and starting to get serious. "Wei Ying was harmed by it. That is reason enough." Still, his lover's eyes flicker over to Wei Ying, and for Lan Zhan that might as well be a scream of curiosity. Of course, the Chief Cultivator had been too disciplined – and kind – to jump all over him with questions when Wei Ying first woke up, but it's obvious the questions haven't been far from the front of his mind.

Given that his plan to keep them all safe and in the dark has failed so spectacularly, he has no reason to withhold this information now. “That ‘random spirit’ is Wen Zhuliu,” Wei Ying begins. He expects to have to explain further, about who Wen Zhuliu is and why it matters, and is rather taken aback when all three young disciples jump at his name, exchanging looks of trepidation.

“The Wen Zhuliu?” Jin Ling demands, while Jingyi yelps, “Core Melting Hand?”

Is he ever going to stop being surprised that the things so long gone – the things he lived through – are all but revered as legends now? Including the villains?

Especially the villains, he tells himself playfully. You know better than most how much people like a devil.

Waving a hand, dismissing their concerns, Wei Ying replies, “The very same. I assume Lan Zhan told you I was attempting Empathy before my… uh, nap?” Their blank expressions reassure him that the Chief Cultivator had told them no such thing. He resists the urge to roll his eyes, knowing well enough that the more anxious Lan Zhan was, the more he tended to close up, to communicate only what was directly and immediately relevant. It had probably genuinely not occurred to him to let the disciples know what was going on beyond direct orders.

“Well, I was. Wen Zhuliu was skulking around Cloud Recesses for several weeks, and I couldn’t get him to talk to me. So…” His haphazard gesture is meant to indicate everything that’s happened since then.

Apparently it’s not quite enough for any of them. “For weeks!?” Jingyi looks like he’s picturing rounding a corner in Cloud Recesses and running straight into the imposing spirit. “Why was he there!?”

“And why are you here now?” Jin Ling asks.

More tactful but still confused, Sizhui adds, “And forgive me, Master Wei, but why didn’t you say anything?”

Under the onslaught of questions, he can feel his headache surging, but Wei Ying pushes it back and grins. He struggles with some things, but performing under pressure is not one of them. “So demanding! Well, let’s see…” He’s about to start twirling Chenqing when he realizes the flute isn’t tucked into his belt. Now discomfort does writhe in his chest, and he fumbles at his robes like the instrument might be hidden there. Had it been left at Suntouched Sanctuary? Before he can become more alarmed, Lan Zhan moves forward. Chenqing is in his hand.

Wordlessly, the other man hands it over. With a grateful smile, Wei Ying takes it, the wood comforting under his agitated fingers. He doesn’t know why, but this item – this flute, out of everything he’s ever owned – connects him most to… who he is. Reminds him, when it feels like he’s forgetting.

And he forgets so often.

Whirling Chenqing, perhaps too wildly, Wei Ying resets himself. “As I was saying. He was there to find me. He couldn’t contact me, because…” That still wasn’t entirely clear. Slowly, tasting the words to see how they sound, his gaze drifting over to Lan Zhan to include the cultivator in the speculation, he continues. “There are powerful wards up in Cloud Recesses to dampen ghostly presences. Maybe they stopped him.” Which wouldn’t explain why he hadn’t reached out when Wei Ying had left the wards at the beginning of his trip.

“Resentment, too,” Lan Zhan offers, understanding the gap in the explanation.

Wei Ying considers that, then nods. It made sense.

“What do you mean?” Jingyi asks, bold despite the Chief Cultivator’s presence, and the other disciples crowd closer, too, eager to hear the response.

“What are ghosts made of?” Wei Ying replies, grinning at the mingled exasperation and resignation on the faces of his pupils. They well know his preferred teaching style, and how unlikely he is to give them a straight answer.

Sizhui is the first to respond. “Energy.”

“What kind?”

“Resentful!” That from Jin Ling. The Clan Leader announces it like he’s challenging Wei Ying to call him wrong, and it’s almost painfully reminiscent of Jiang Cheng’s belligerent forcefulness. Still, even now, Wei Ying has to wonder if Jin Ling realizes just how much he takes after his uncle – and how much of a blessing that really is.

Mostly a blessing.

“Often resentful, yes. Good!” Beginning to pace around the room, Wei Ying notes his nephew’s quickly stifled pride with inward amusement. “Not always, but often. Particularly when a person is murdered. And what does the culmination of resentful energy cause?”

Jin Ling is blank, which is understandable. Neither the Jiang nor Jin Sects specialize in suppressing ghosts. Sizhui, on the other hand, is quick to reply. “Distorted personalities, mindless rage, and increased aggression.”

“Precisely! So, Wen Zhuliu did not immediately reach out to me after I left Cloud Recesses because…”

This time there is a pause, but it feels more awkward than uncertain. Jinyi is the one to break the silence. “Because Wen Zhuliu hates you for your part in his murder, and that conflicted with whatever he desired to contact you about. So he didn’t attack you, but he couldn’t connect, either. The resentful energy was too strong.”

Wei Ying positively beams, ignoring the awkwardness. Technically speaking, Wen Zhuliu was murdered, so he doesn’t find it an inept description, despite the children being reluctant to describe it as such. “Ah, Lan Zhan, aren’t these students too bright? Who could have taught them so well?”

When he looks meaningfully at the Chief Cultivator, Lan Zhan lets the silence grow before he answers. “I don’t know.” For him, almost a joke. At Wei Ying’s expense.

With an affronted gasp, Wei Ying points Chenqing at his partner. “You lie! Who but a cultivator of renown, of talent, of brilliance, could have taught them so much? A handsome cultivator with a keen mind, a sense of righteousness, a bottomless fount of knowledge, a desirable face and–”

“Wei Ying.”

Though Lan Zhan says it as an interruption, Wei Ying chooses to interpret it differently. “Ah! Lan Zhan, you flatter me. Such kindness from the Chief Cultivator! But of course, I wasn’t referring to myself.” He winks outrageously, and the barest hint of a flush creeps up Lan Zhan’s cheeks, though he doesn’t reply.

Flipping Chenqing with a flamboyant flourish, satisfied as ever to catch his lover a little off guard, Wei Ying snags the flute out of the air and turns his attention back to the disciples.

Who are currently struggling to contain their amusement at seeing the Chief Cultivator teased. For all that Lan Zhan has, in his own way, relaxed as the years have gone on, that has assuredly not included encouraging others to badger him. Wei Ying tells himself it’s good for the stately cultivator, and it’s definitely good for Wei Ying himself, so…

“So, you well trained trio, why did I go to Suntouched Sanctuary?” A slightly unfair question, if Lan Zhan hasn’t given them all the information, but he isn’t destined to be disappointed today.

“You were researching Wen descendants and the subsidiary Clans at the library!” Jingyi pipes up, only to snap his mouth shut as Wei Ying side-eyes him at the reminder of just who had been spying on him.

Probably to save his friend, Sizhui rushes to fill the gap. “So you found Wen Zhuliu belonged to the Clan who called Suntouched Sanctuary home?”

Relenting his glare, Wei Ying nods. “Mhm. The Zhao Yu Clan lived in Suntouched Sanctuary before the Sunshot Campaign. Empathy with Wen Zhuliu confirmed it; I saw him with… some others from the Clan.” When he says it, his voice changes. Becomes quieter, and Wei Ying is powerless to stop the sorrow that seeps into the words.

He doesn’t want it. Wants to reject the emotion with a vehemence that’s just short of acidic. He’s been avoiding thinking of what Empathy showed ever since he woke up; filled the space in his head with Lan Zhan and the disciples and questions so much easier to answer than the state of his own soul. What does he owe those dead people he never met, strolling through their garden on that sunny day? What does he owe Wen Zhuliu’s Jiaying, with her firm shoulders and growing belly, with her supportive words and eyes so afraid of losing love?

What can he owe her, when she is dead and gone like so many others?

Lan Zhan heard the change and he’s now at Wei Ying’s side, eyes drifting to the floor but senses acutely trained on his partner. Wei Ying knows, can feel, how intently Lan Zhan is focused on him, ready to offer assistance at the slightest word or gesture. Falling into that quiet support, letting it take the weight of his decades-long fatigue, if only for a moment, is a relief he can’t begin to put words to. Not in a way that would do it justice, anyways.

“Is there any alcohol?” he asks, and of course there is, because Lan Zhan foresaw that particular need.  

Though he could order the disciples to do it, the Chief Cultivator strides over to the side table, swipes up two of the jars resting there. Then he is back at Wei Ying’s side, offering the liquid like he’s offering something else. Because, of course, he is.

Wei Ying accepts the drink gratefully, swallows deep and long. Not as good as the Emperor’s Smile, but it does the trick nonetheless, the mild burn tracing down his throat and soothing the pain of far more caustic emotions. By the time he pulls the empty jar from his lips, it’s taken the sting of haunted defensiveness from his thoughts. Not the alcohol itself – after all, Wei Ying is a first class drinker, and one glass is not anywhere near enough to get him drunk – but the familiarity of the motion, of the taste. It brings him memories, and he grounds himself in the sensation of the tart liquor slipping over his tongue.

The disciples are waiting patiently and without surprise. They know his drinking habits well enough – and more than his drinking habits, he is ashamed to admit. Unstopping the second jar but holding off from drinking more just yet, Wei Ying gathers himself. Another reset. He’s no longer in the mood for the question and answer game, as much joy as it usually gives him.

“At a place with strong emotional resonance such as Suntouched Sanctuary, Wen Zhuliu was able to break through the resentment, to reach out to me.” He doesn’t feel like mentioning the way he’d made his target’s resentment surge first. Doesn’t want to talk about the spirit Wen Zhuliu had ripped apart, doesn’t feel like speculating about who they were, who they had been to Core Melting Hand to shatter his fury like they had. Doesn’t want to admit to yet another murder, for all that he hadn’t held the cutting – melting – weapon.

He’ll tell Lan Zhan. Some night, when the candles are out and their bodies speak truths their throats find hard to say, he’ll tell him. But not today.

Tight-lipped, Wei Ying forces a smile. “However, the barriers were not completely gone,” specifically, his barriers, “so I decided to use Empathy to try to understand him more.”

“By yourself,” Sizhui says, and it’s such an echo of Lan Zhan’s disapproval that he has to laugh.

“By myself. It turned out fine.”

Jin Ling snorts. “You tell us all the time that it’s horribly dangerous to do Empathy alone, and then go ahead and do it by yourself anyways.”

With a light shrug, Wei Ying takes a swig out of the jar. “Do as I say, not as I do.” Smacking his lips to drown out Jinyi and Jin Ling’s protests, he waves off their affront. “At any rate, I learned much.” Much more than he’d wanted to, in fact. “Namely, how to get Wen Zhuliu to stop skulking around. He’s looking for someone.”

“To kill them?” Jinyi asks. He and Ouyang Zizhen both have a penchant for the melodramatic.

“No. They were… taken from him. He wants to find them.”

“Who are they?” Trust Lan Zhan to speak and ask the only question that matters. Well, one of two questions that matter.

There’s a tightness in his shoulders that no amount of drink will ease. Why can’t he get the warm feeling out of his chest, the one that Wen Zhuliu had clutched at so desperately when he was searching for her? It’s not his feeling, he doesn’t want it, doesn’t want anything to do with it.

He forces his mouth not to caress the name. “Mingxia. His daughter.”

The juniors react to that with the expected level of shock. Amid the yelps and rush of speculation, though, Wei Ying doesn’t look at the youngsters. His gaze searches out Lan Zhan’s eyes, and when he finds those dark expanses, he can tell the Chief Cultivator is disturbed. There’s a furrow across his brow, and he’s leaning forward just slightly. Is he thinking about that night, when he’d allowed Jiang Cheng’s Zidian to take one life, and had permitted the brothers to take another life after a great deal of pain and screaming? Or is he remembering the many Wens and Wen supporters he’s killed, cultivators all and none defenseless, but belonging to a family nonetheless?

Or is that just Wei Ying, inserting his own guilt into the honorable man?

Jiaying is probably dead. How else could Mingxia have ended up alone, and in such desperate straits? But how had she died? What had happened from the time Wen Zhuliu left the garden, certain he would see his wife again, to this very day?

What had happened, besides Wen Zhuliu being murdered, along with the man he’d sworn to protect?

Wei Ying thinks, if it had just been the two of them, Lan Zhan would have reached out by now. He would have gladly accepted his lover’s touch, gratefully pressed his face against his strong shoulder and hidden from the world. If only for a moment.  

Alas. They’ve an audience.

Interrupting the excited flurry of words between the disciples, Wei Ying says, “If we recover her, Wen Zhuli will probably stop bothering me.” Or at least his ghost will. The memories… well, some things are better at haunting than even ghosts.

“But who took her? Did you see through Empathy?” That from Sizhui, and is it any surprise he asked the second important question?

Wei Ying spreads his hands in a hapless gesture (after finishing chugging the second jar). “I didn’t see enough to be sure. But I think I know who’ll have an idea where to start.”

Jin Ling frowns, exchanging confused glances with his friends, but Lan Zhan’s mouth has thinned. He suspects he knows who Wei Ying is talking about, and he’s not sure if he’s pleased about it. Wei Ying sympathizes.

He smiles anyways. At least the man is interesting. “What do you say?” he asks the Chief Cultivator playfully. “How do you feel about visiting our old friend Huaisang?”  

[f0rever15elf]

I Just Need Five Minutes: Part 1

Part 1 of the Maxwell Lord “I Just Need Five Minutes” Series: Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4, Part 5 (Coming soon) Pairing: Maxwell Lord x f!reader Wordcount: 2,325 Rating: G  Warnings: Death mentions Part 2 (Coming soon...)

Summary: Lord Corp has become the top business contender on the global stage, lead by none other than Maxwell Lord IV. His rise to glory has taken him from the lives of those he once loved, and you can only watch as he slips further and further out of reach. You had to stop it, before it was too late. You had to get inside. 

A/N: This story is going to call a little bit on the comic book backstory of Maxwell Lord IV, most of which can be found in his wiki article, if you’re interested. I’m excited to write for Maxwell, his character has so much potential. And hopefully this will tide me over since the movie release has been delayed again.

Masterlist  |  Ao3

He was a genius. Shrewd, cunning, and charismatic. His way with words had everyone coiled tightly around his finger; he could sell holy water to the Pope if he wanted to. And with that silver tongue, that guise he wore to stroke the egos of those who ate from his palm and were none the wiser, he continued to climb higher and higher. More and more power fell into his grasp.

But a glass can only hold so much, and as his brimmed and spilled over with power and influence, so did he lose his humanity.

“Maxwell...what have you done?”

~~~~

The sun shines brilliantly in the summer sky over the wide yard in front of the Lord estate. In the lush green grass, two children play, no more than five or six years old. A boy and a girl, giggling and laughing over jokes and stories told in funny voices. It is the picture of innocence, purity. The little girl picks up a flower from the small pile they had collected, tucking it behind her ear before finding a matching one, tucking it behind the boy’s.

“We match now!” she beams in a way only a child can. “It means that you and I will be together forever!” The boy blushes at her words, soft blonde hair blowing gently in the summer breeze. His face is gentle and kind, shy even as he watches her with bright brown eyes that shine in the light. Tentatively, he sticks out his hand to her, pinky finger extended.

“You gotta promise! It doesn’t work if you don’t promise!” His serious voice makes the girl giggle before she makes a serious face, wrapping her pinky around his tightly.

“I promise! Forever and ever.” The boy smiles and nods as she says so, repeating her words back to her before they both erupt into giggles. From the balcony, the mothers of the two children look on fondly over their cups of tea. The sound of the children laughing danced on the warm breeze, pleasant in their ears. If only things could stay like this forever.

~~~~

Your pinky twitches as you stand before the gilded doors of the Lord Building, looking up at its windows, blinding in the sunlight. You would get in. You had to. Things had been put into motion that you need to stop, but the only way to do so is from the inside. With a shake of your head and a sigh, your turn on your heel, heading down the street towards home. It seems that nearly every screen you pass on your way has Maxwell’s face on it, selling empty promises and loaded bargains. And every time you see his eyes, they look a little less like the boy you use to know.

~~~~

“Max can’t meet you today, dear,” your mother says, petting your hair. To an adult familiar with grief and loss, the tightness in her voice would betray the tumultuous emotions she feels. To you, she just sounds uncomfortable, and you tilt your head in confusion. Fourteen years doesn’t provide much time to become familiar with the concept of loss, so you shrug, saddened you wouldn’t get to see your friend today.

Gone were the days of sitting in the grass to play, tucking flowers into each other’s hair. Maxwell was always busy helping his father to run the family business, and you would go months without so much as a word from him before he would show up at your door with a lily, smiling that dimpled smile at you. Promises always poured from his lips that it wouldn’t be so long next time before he came to see you.

But today… Today would change everything. Today, Maxwell’s father died.

~~~~

The door to your apartment slams shut behind you with a thud, shutting out the hustle and bustle of Metropolis. It’s small, but cozy, filled with your plants to bring a little life to the drab living room and kitchen. Taking a seat in the living room, you pull out your computer from your bag as you flip on the TV. It’s Maxwell’s face again, smiling at you with the look of a used car salesman who swears he wants only the best for his favorite customer. You know it’s not a real smile. Maxwell has a dimple when he smiles, and this charade didn’t. You shake your head as his promises of whatever you want in this perfect future fill the room, your eyes refocusing on your laptop, refreshing your emails. One meeting...that was all you needed.

~~~~

You let out a frustrated sigh as the door slams closed, your mother letting out a cry of surprise at the sound before coming to find you, resting a concerned hand on your shoulder as you throw yourself onto the couch.

“He still won’t see you?” Her gentle words just cause your heart to ache further and you nod.

“His mom greeted me, invited me in and made me tea. We chatted, but as soon as I asked about Maxwell, she stood up and ushered me from the house, asking me to not come by anymore since I couldn’t seem to stop asking for him.” You turn to look at your mother, tears in your eyes. “Why won’t he see me, Mom? Did I do something wrong?” Your mother’s heart shatters at the broken light in your eyes. She knew how much Maxwell meant to you, and that having him refuse to see you was tearing you apart.

“My sweet, you’ve done nothing wrong. Maxwell has a lot of responsibility to take on now that he’s running his father’s company. He’s very busy and doesn’t have as much time to see friends as he use to.” She brushes your hair behind your ear with delicate fingers. “I’m sure he still cares about you.”

“I miss him, Mom. I miss my best friend. It’s been three years since I’ve seen him...” Seventeen years of life and you still struggle with keeping your emotions in check, especially when it comes to Maxwell.

“I know sweetheart...When the time is right, you will see him again…”

~~~~

The alert from your inbox pulls you from your reverie, your eyes refocusing on the screen. As they do, your heart stutters in your chest

‘To Whom It May Concern,

We graciously thank you for your interest in Lord Corp. Mr. Lord has personally reviewed your product and would like to arrange to meet you on Wednesday at 3 p.m. You will have thirty minutes to make your sales pitch and answer any questions he may have. The front desk will direct you when you arrive. Please bring a valid photo ID and copies of your pitch for convince. Do not be late, Mr. Lord’s time is incredibly valued.

Cordially,

Sam Preston

Personal Assistant to the CEO’

You had gotten it. That moment you needed on the inside...you had finally gotten it. A relieved smile graces your lips as you begin to amass your files. You had one shot at this, it had to be perfect.

~~~~

You stand alone in the cemetery as you watch the caretakers laying new sod over the fresh grave. Your heart feels hollow, and only the black lace veil conceals the tears streaming down your cheeks from the world around you. Today was beautiful; cool and still with the birds singing in the trees as the sun warmed the earth. It was too beautiful for a day filled with such grief.

As the caretakers pack up their tools, one stops to rest a hand on his shoulder, passing along his condolences before continuing on his way. You nod gratefully before kneeling beside the headstone. It is modest, small and simple with a delicate engraving of a singular rose by your mother’s name. Black-gloved fingers trace along each petal and letter, your shoulders shaking with silent cries. You were now well and truly alone.

You shouldn’t have had to be alone. He should have been there with you, you had made a promise to one another. You were there when his father passed, and his mother. He didn’t even have the time to attend his own mother’s funeral, but you did. You mourned for him as they lowered a woman close enough to be your second mother into the ground beside her husband. So why were you alone now?

Where are you Maxwell?

~~~~

Your hands work to smooth the front of your dress down before you enter the lobby of Lord Corp. Slate gray with a simple black belt that held nicely to your figure but didn’t reveal too much. Professional and classy, with a dash of sexy. Nothing beyond anything any self-respecting company owner would don. Head held high and the bag you specifically reserved for important business trips and meetings over your shoulder, you make your way inside, up to the front desk.

“Welcome to Lord Corp, where the future is yours, do you have an appointment?” The intern who greets you sounds like every last bit of his soul has been sapped from him, and you pity him. Giving him a sad smile, you nod, pulling out your ID.

“I do, at 3 pm with Mr. Lord.” You give him your name as he takes the card, looking you up in the system before nodding, handing you back your ID and a visitors badge which you quickly put around your neck.

“Lily Solutions, you’re still on schedule. I’ll have you head down the hall. Take your first left, you’ll find the elevators. Take it all the way to the top and have a seat on the bench outside the double doors at the end of the hall. Sam will come and get you when Mr. Lord is ready for you.” You smile sweetly at the young man, thanking him before following your instructions. Your ears pop on the way up and you grimace, pulling out the folder with your ‘sales pitch’ inside, flipping through to make sure everything is in order. As the doors slide open and you make your way down the hall, you sigh. This floor was so much more opulent than the ground floor and you feel so out of place. Floor to ceiling paintings like the walls, depicting grandiose battles. Priceless vases and sculptures sit along marble pedestals. It’s like walking through a museum rather than an office, and your jaw clenches as you think about how he had come to acquire some of these items. When you reach the bench, you take your seat and cross your ankles to wait, trying to calm your racing heart.

“Lily Solutions?” The voice that calls out for you immediately grates on your nerves, high pitched and nasally. Looking to your right, so you a man in a pressed navy blue suit make his way towards you, and you stand to meet him, taking his extended hand. “I am Sam Preston, Mr. Lord’s personal assistant. Did you bring your requested documents?” The way he looked down his nose at you makes your blood boil, but you paste on the sweetest smile you can, nodding as you hand over the folder.

“You’ll find copies of all requested articles inside, neatly labeled for yours and Mr. Lord’s personal convenience.” Sam makes a disinterested sound in the back of his throat, snapping the folder shut before checking his watch.

“Very good. This way.” He strides past you and as soon as he is in front of you, you drop the sweet smile. Maxwell, why hire someone like him? You shake your head as Sam opens the door at the end of the hall, getting your salesman smile in place. “Mr. Lord, your 3 o’clock is here from Lily Solutions.” Sam ushers you inside and you are taken aback once again at how over the top the design of the office is. Floor to ceiling windows line the whole back wall with arguably the best view in Metropolis and the curtains that hang every so often are of a rich red velvet with gold filigree.  The marble tiles cause the click of your heels to echo as you make your way to the center of the room beside Sam, your eyes locked on the man sitting at the large mahogany desk.

It’s been seventeen years since you last saw Maxwell, and your heart ached for the man who appraises you with shrewd and cunning eyes. With a wave of his hand, Sam nods, leaving the folder on the desk to make his way out of the room. The large oaken door closing echos ominously through the room as Maxwell stands, coming around his desk to face you, hands in his pockets. If he recognized you at all, he didn’t show it.

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Mr. Lord. I realize your time is very valuable, so I won’t keep you long.” Maxwell chuckles humorlessly at your greetings, leaning back against his desk.

“You say that, but you bring me this fake, garbage company in an attempt for a sales pitch?” His voice is rough and hard as flint, no trace of that gentle sound he once had. “What game are you playing?”

“No game, sir.”

“I don’t believe you.” He pushes off of his desk, walking back around it. “Everyone has a game they play, and if you’re not going to tell me yours, I’ll have you escorted out.” When he picks up the phone, your heart leaps into your throat and you dart forward pressing down on the receiver, cutting it off. He glares at you in disbelief. The audacity, he thinks, is astounding and he would make sure you suffer for it.

“Maxwell, please.” His eyes flash at the use of his first name, something in the way it sounds in your voice bringing him to pause. “I just need five minutes.”

~~~~~

Taglist is open!  Requests are open!

[tinalbion]

Can you do a Mayor Buckman scenario or headcanons of what would happen if he were to meet his S/O after finding her locked in the trunk of a car of some soon to be victims driving through Pleasant Valley? He notices the car's tail lights have been kicked out and an arm is sticking out and weakly moving. She is dehydrated and on the brink of heat stroke from the Southern Georgia sun, but still alive. So Buckman saves her while the visitors are distracted?

This is honestly such a great idea, oh man, imagine how he would react to something as crazy as that?! Never in his day would he expect this. Let’s just right into it!

No Time To Die

The town had greeted their new guests for their ‘Guts ‘n Glory Jubilee’ this year in the sweltering Georgia heat, Buckman was already getting a good feeling about this year since not one car, but three cars filled with lost college kids stumble on their little town. Pleasant Valley would be eating great this year, the thought of their carcasses hung in the butcher window, being prepared for the barbeque. It brought a wicked smile to Buckman’s face as he stood there and thought of it. He was brought back when one of the male students had asked him about the facilities, to which he prattled off some excuse for them, then he beckoned to the girls of the town, who all gathered on the stairs and flaunted all that they had to the willing group, which once they had seen the look in their eyes. They knew the kids were sold on staying.

Everyone had gathered around and excited to have guests of honor for their yearly celebration, their mouths already watering at the thought of the taste. Granny Boone was already preparing refreshments and finger foods for their guests while the mayor was doing all the sweet-talking, making sure that they wouldn’t up and change their minds. A few other townsfolk gathered around their small group; a spunky short-haired blonde girl who went by Miss Peaches, two girls who could have been supermodels that were clinging to each other, and a young feisty child that went by Hucklebilly, had all gotten in closer to their mayor and stared up at the group of young adults. Then there had been a properly dressed young man who walked up to Buckman’s side, standing straight and gazing at all of the delicious options he had before him. 

“Harper, my boy,” Buckman placed his arm around the young man’s shoulder and patted him, “please show our guests the best accommodations and make sure they feel...welcomed,” Buckman gave him that knowing smirk and allowed the man to guide a few of the ladies inside while their other friends followed, though one hesitated before walking in. 

The town was anxious to get the festivities started now that they all agreed to stay, but Buckman knew that it was a process and it would take a bit of time to fully convince them all to let their guards down. He was walking around their cars and surveying the makes and models until he noticed that the bumper of one of them had been significantly damaged. The taillights had been busted out and one of the lights had actually been dangling from it, then his eye noticed the slight movement from the trunk door. There it was; a hand. Fingers wiggled slowly and weakly, but they were moving, they belonged to someone locked in the trunk. 

This was a new thing for Buckman to witness but he was also very curious about how this would play out, so he beckoned over his eldest son, Rufus, to assist him with opening the trunk. The taller man quickly grabbed a metal pipe and jammed it into the crevice of the trunk, away from the hand that popped out, and sprang the trunk open. 

That was when he saw you, a glorified hot mess, panting from the heat that was trapped in there with you. You couldn’t even move your hand from its spot, the bones and muscles so sore and in so much pain that it would hurt less to just remain still. Your tongue was so dry, your throat felt as if it were on fire, you couldn’t remember what happened or how you got to this point. You did your best to open up your eyes to see what was going on, but the heat was just too unbearable for you to even give a damn right now. 

Buckman looked down at you and you barely stirred as you were freed from the extreme heat that was contained in the trunk, that was a bad sign for sure. You looked so beautiful despite the absolute shit you had already obviously been through. Your skin was bruised and blood had been smeared on your face, he couldn’t even tell if it was yours or someone else’s, but it was so dried and stuck to your skin that it flaked off when he ran his thumb across it. 

“Damn,” he muttered and looked around, his eyes landing on Rufus. “Make sure those kids are occupied enough, don’t let ‘em leave,” he warned as he lowered the trunk to avoid suspicion. 

Rufus agreed obediently and took off toward the main guest house, where he greeted Granny Boone in the doorway and quietly explained the situation. Her face rose up and stared at him with a horrified expression, but Buckman waved his hand as a dismissal, so she took the sign and went inside with Rufus. Buckman would have to take care of this himself.

He peered down at you and shook his head, his mind reeling with what the hell kind of people he would be dealing with, though they were insignificant Yankees that he and his townfolk would pick off one by one. You, on the other hand, were a special case in this situation, and he never figured he would be the one saving a life instead of ending one. With ease, he scooped you into his arms despite how heavy you should have been with your body being dead weight, your head cradled against his chest as he quickly made his way toward the old chapel where he and his family would hold meetings. It would be the safest place for you to be while the college kids focused on everything else but their obvious lack of religion, so he figured he would store you in the loft where there would be privacy. 

Buckman carried you up the ladder and brought you ice-cold water, and once it hit your lips, your body came to life and you greedily sucked at the rim of the glass, sipping at the refreshing liquid. You had been so thirsty, you couldn’t remember when the last time you had a drink was. 

When you were pulled a bit out of your stupor, you looked up at the strange man with a confederate eye patch, but you didn’t scream or try to claw your way out of there. He was your savior, he wanted you to live. Why? When you tried to speak, you coughed and could barely breathe as you tried to regain yourself.

“Calm down,” Buckman warned and placed a hand on your shoulder, “just drink and relax. You’re safe right now, just stay here and those little Yank bastards won’t find you, you hear me?”

His southern accent was rather calming even though you had no idea who this stranger was, but he was saving you and you had no words to say to him as the tears easily flooded your eyes. You mouthed out a ‘thank you’ as you gulped more of the water down, finally content with the amount you had. Once you rested your head back down onto the plush pillow that was placed under you, you looked up at the man again and smiled weakly.

“Thank you,” you said in a breathy tone, “you saved me. He was gonna kill me, and-” You felt another coughing fit come up, but you stopped yourself in time and took a few deep breaths. “I’m Y/N,” you huffed out, “I just...thank you.”

Buckman smirked and placed a damp cloth onto your head, doing his best to keep your body as cool as he could without sending you into shock. “A pleasure it is, Y/N,” he replied and patted the cloth all around your face. “The name is Buckman, I’m the mayor of this pleasant little town, and it just so happens that your captors came to the right place.”

He left off on that thought as he got to his feet and looked down at you. “Now I need to make an appearance in town, make sure those kids are nice an’ occupied, just keep here and I’ll pop in ta make sure you’re well and taken care of. Granny Boone will fix ya somethin’ up nice and good, get some food in yer system.”

You wanted him to stay, your nerves eating away at you, scared to be left alone. Your hand immediately shot out and gripped at his pants leg, your hand was shaking. “Please, don’t leave me,” you begged quietly, “what if they find me?”

He chuckled and knelt down to meet your gaze. “Don’t worry you pretty little thing, they won’t. I got you nice and hidden, no way they’ll find ya. Only ones who know about you here are the people I trust the most. You can count on us to take care of ya, I give you my word as mayor of Pleasant Valley,” he assured you as he placed his hand over his heart. “Now don’t you worry, I’ll be back right quick with some good ol’ home-cookin’.”

He left it at that and left you alone with your thoughts, the adrenaline drained from your system as you lay there in an excruciating amount of pain. But you wouldn’t be feeling much of anything if this random stranger hadn’t intervened. He promised to keep you safe yet asked for nothing in return, but that didn’t matter right now. You were alive and allowed to live another day.

[mymindwide]

My Red Desert

Pairing: Ashton x Female reader

Word count: 1835

Warning: None, just cuteness and feelings :)

Author’s Note: I fell in love with Red Desert when they performed it back in January for the first time and couldn’t get it out of my head, so this little piece was born and now I felt confident enough with it to post. Hope you’ll enjoy it.

******

By the time you woke up Ashton had left the house. They have a charity-ish gig this evening, so they set up a meeting with the other guys to finalize some details. You did some necessary house work – starting with the dishes and finishing your chores with ironing a black shirt he prepared on a chair, probably with the thought of wanting to wear it tonight. You hung it on a clothes hanger and right after that you headed for the kitchen to eat a few bites before leaving for your yoga class. You left him a “off to yoga my ass off. love u.” note on the kitchen counter and closed the door behind yourself.

A refreshing one and a half hour exercise later, that did magic again, you felt happier and more energetic than when you arrived to the class. You wished Ash could have come with you, because at those very rare occasions you usually grabbed some coffee on the way home, just enjoying the sun and each other’s company. You always miss the silliest little things.

“Well, just because he’s not here, it doesn’t mean any of us should skip this tradition, does it?” you thought to yourself.

You made a quick detour to your favorite café shop and picked up 2 cups of your favorite beverages.

Ten minutes later you were standing in your doorway and entering the house a tune unfamiliar to you struck your ear. It even made you stop right at the spot you were standing. It was a very nice and harmonic guitar sound you have never heard before between the walls of this house.

Ash’s probably practicing, or you hope he is, and not a burglar tests his guitar collection right now while your boyfriend is sitting in a corner bound and silenced. You put your cups on the table and as quietly as you could you went to his practice room and leaning against the doorframe you admired him a little bit.

You got tired of just standing in the doorway, so sneaking in in complete silence you sat on the other side of the couch, not wanting to violate his personal space, especially not when he’s practicing, but this melody was so addictive to you, you had to see and hear him from as close as you could. After playing for a few minutes now and trying out different sounds and parts, he finally looked up at you.

 “Hey Miss Watcher…”

“Hey Santana…”

 He couldn’t resist a smile.

 “How was the class?”

“Good, good, but I need to ask something; does this thing have lyrics too?”

“Yep?”

“Can I hear it?”

“Absolutely… not.”

“Ah” you pulled a pouty face. “I’d like you to sing for me.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise tonight.”

“You can surprise me now.”

“No.”

“Please?!”

“Nope.”

“Pretty please?”

“That pretty before the please always helps a lot. You convinced me.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Then just please, again?”

“If I won’t hear silence in a moment, I’ll escort you out.”

“Lips are sealed” you sighed mimicking zipping your lips and pulling your knees up to your chest, you hugged them with both of your arms, and with your side leaning against the backrest you were ready to continue the mini concert.

“Good.”

 You put out your tongue at him and in answer to that he threw you a kiss that made you roll your eyes. He always wins, always. But eventually he continued playing on the guitar. The same chords for three or four times, one after the other, but you didn’t mind it, you could have listened to this song on a loop for 2 hours straight, not even knowing the lyrics, that’s how pleasing it’s been to your ears.

After a few minutes he stopped and put down the guitar on the floor and for moments you two were just looking at each other in silence.

 “Now you don’t say anything?”

“Hm hm” you shrugged pointing at your zipped lips.

“Come here, funny girl.”

 Seizing the opportunity you crawled those few feet distance separating you and straddled him.

His eyes met yours and you saw him leaning closer and closer. You knew what was coming but you decided you’ll be resisting as long as you can. Which wasn’t too long to be honest, but damn. Arms wrapped around your waist, mouth covering yours. His tactic was rewarding - besieging your lips with the softest of kisses, until you’re giving in and you did. Your hands slipped up to bracket his face; your lips parted just enough to welcome his lips and kiss him back.

 “Looks like I’ve won again.”

“Yeah, yeah, tell me something new” you rolled your eyes.

“You’re never gonna make it” he smirked.

“Again, no news” you huffed. “By the way… Have you not changed your mind?” you smiled at him, your thumbs caressing both his cheeks. But not receiving any answer you decided you’ll stop bothering him because you don’t want to annoy him to death. “Okay, I’ll leave you alone” and planting a kiss on his cheek you’d have started getting up from his lap.

“Stay” his fingers gently clenched on your wrist holding your hand on his chest and you in front of him.

 His hand let go of yours and found its rest on your waist again. His facial expression has changed into something more serious, his smile faded away which for a brief moment made you worried and confused, but then his mouth moved and the first notes left his throat.

 Red, red desert, heal our blues, I’d dive deeper for you What a blessing to feel your love, Twilight moments with you

 His voice so low, deep and meaningful. For the quiet and soft sound your nerves calmed down in a second, making you close your eyes, so his voice can vibrate through your ears more intensively.

“Also, if the lyrics start this deep, and it’ll keep being this deep, I’m fucked, so fucked” you thought.

 I've been asleep so long, I'm so far away Visions I see are strong, I hear what they say Won’t you leave all your fears at the edge of the world I'll tell you again like I've told you before, I've been asleep so long, wasting away

 This last line was the point your chest gave up on sitting on your feelings and pushed them through your heart just to reach your eyes where they could find a free way for themselves in the form of tears. You don’t even remember what you were doing before Ashton. Before he came into your life you’ve been just existing but not living. You’ve been wasting away… And the thought just made you feel sorry for your old self and made you feel gratitude for your current life with him in it.

 Tell me would you pack up all your bags staying true to North, you’re the only one I’d do this for…

 Tho not in a geographical way but in a certain sense this is exactly what you did for him. Leaving an old life behind you. Which one of them wrote these lyrics? And your tears just keep falling and falling in silence. You don’t even care, but he does, and you feel his palm on your face, his thumb wiping away the tears streaming down your cheek. And his action earned a barely noticeable smile from you.

 It doesn't take too long to heal and replace

Demons we’re running from they’re begging to stay…

 Demons both him and you had fought with and know too well. But here you are, together and strong, undefeated. When you’re with the right person it can give you such a confidence, the feeling of not having to be afraid anymore. Your nails crumpled into his shirt as you grabbed the material, unintentionally, just like your tears – feeling-operated. Not breaking the singing he tilted his forehead to yours reassuring you in a way you never expected. That’s how much his physical presence and closeness can affect you.

 The refrain came on again, fading into the repeat of the word red. And then again your favorite refrain in the whole world…

 Red, red desert, heal our blues, I’d dive deeper for you (Dive in deeper for you, dive in deeper for you) What a blessing to feel your love, Twilight moments with you (All these moments with you, all these moments with you)

 For instance moments like this… Just the two of you, in such an intimate state. When you’re vulnerable because pouring your heart out to someone makes you that. But you trust each other enough. You love each other enough. You’ll cherish this forever.

 Pack up all your bags, Staying true to North You're the only one I'd do this for Red, red desert, heal our blues I’d dive deeper for you

 Suspecting the end of the song by the fading of his voice you opened your eyes. You wanted to get lost in his words while seeing the look in his eyes and indeed you got all the answers you needed.

A pleasant silence settled upon you and you didn’t have to tell anything to know what your relationship just went through the past almost 4 minutes. You rested your forehead against his again, and you just breathed the silence, the experience and each other in. It was his head that moved first slowly brushing your nose together until your lips met.

You kissed like you were doing it for the first time; shy and deliberate. It’s been so soulful, so careful as if you’d be afraid to hurt each other. It’s started so tenderly, and become so full of longing you wanted to melt into him; you wanted to become one with him. Yeah, there’s a certain “method” where you can get very close to that state, but right now the timing was against you since he shortly have to prepare and leave for the venue the gig will be held at, and closing this little séance with a quick fucking on the couch is not what any of you wanted, you were quite sure about this, otherwise his hands would be all over you by now. But you knew both him and you can guard this unsaid feeling inside you until you meet again tonight.

 “When you come home, we’re gonna make love, just so you know. On the floor. In your bed. In the shower. Wherever. For hours…”

“I’m down for whatever” he grinned.

“Good, I love my men a little cheap” you bit down on your lip.

“You’re driving me crazy, woman…” he smiled leaning in for another kiss.

“Even better, I love my men crazy and cheap. It looks like you meet all the requirements.”

 He kissed into your neck laughing.

Gosh, how much I love making him laugh…

…and although he hasn’t even left yet… how much I can’t wait for him to come home…

[twstdreams]

Thank you so much for the dorm match up! 😊 I am a bit of a chatterbox and I love to discuss on various things. I don't really care what, just as long it's interesting! With subjects I am good with English, History and Geography but I am really bad at match, physics, chrmistry, literally anything of that sort. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I am open with my emotions, if I feel like crying I'll cry, if I feel like laughing, I'll laugh. (1/?)

Also, I am really not good with technology either! I am an INFP and when it comes to people there isn't really a specific personality type I get along with. It's mostly kind of just "if we vibe, we vibe" thing. My friend group is very quirky and varies which makes things so fun! As a person I am quite cheerful, optimistic and bubbly but if I'm in the mood I am quite chaotic! Just really random which freaks some ppl out while others love it, pick your side 😂

I'm a sucker for sweets and yougurt, I can never get enough of that! I also have a passion for scary stories and when I go on walks I love listening to them! I love mythology, faries especially, and I daydream all the time! I get so lost in my world that I sometimes lose track of where I am! I'm generally nice to people I might, maybe a bit shy to some, but still pleasant enough for them to like me.

However I can be quite cold if I don't like some person. I give them the silent treatment and if I HAVE to speak to them I'm just really bitter and snarky. I strongly dislike arrogant people and people who bully. I can also be quite protective over the ones I love and my friends call me that mum of the group, although when the mood hits me I can be a child too. But yeah, mostly the mum friend who worries too much! Is this enough?

Happy Birthday, sweetie! I hope you enjoy this gift!

The shape of thy soul is ... Diasomnia!

You’re not good with technology? No worries, neither is Malleus. Diasomnia is founded on the Witch of Thorns who comes from the Valley of Thorns, a land where most things are magic-based rather than machine reliant. Therefore, no one is going to judge your lack of technical skills

You don’t encapsulate the elegance that Diasomnia students usually emulate. However, considering Sebek is shouting left, right, and centre, Silver is taking naps anywhere and everywhere, and Lilia is currently hanging upside down, it’s not enough to be a deal-breaker

It’s great that you get along with a variety of people because Diasomnia has a wide range of students as well and will help you overcome the aura that the other dorms feel make it hard to approach Diasomnia students

Even if other students don’t have the guts to point it out, Diasomnia, like most of NRC, has its own brand of chaos. Malleus is threatening to light people on fire, Sebek could not stop exalting his young master if his life depended on it, Lilia teleports as he pleases, and Silver has infamous “mad-free space.” You will fit in just fine with the chaos.

Your cheerful, bubbly, and optimistic nature will be welcome! There’s not a lot of sunlight as the dorm as it's modelled after the Witch’s castle, but you can be the designated source of sunshine! Lilia finds your bubbly nature so cute and Malleus finds your optimism refreshing

Your love of sweets will be indulged when there are tea parties! Ignore Sebek’s glaring and forge on, tea and sweets are a lovely combo.

You and Malleus are quite the chatterbox combo! Malleus goes on and on about gargoyles and the stories surrounding them and you adore listening to the ones about haunted ones. 

You love asking him about fae customs and he happily obliges given that you’ve listened to his gargoyle tangent. Lilia answers your questions too, but sometimes you wonder if he’s just pulling your leg. Sebek will answer inquiries too but be prepared for a lecture to go hand in hand.

Losing track of where you are? You probably run into Silver napping at random areas. If you decide to wake him up from his impromptu slumber, he’ll be very grateful

Diasomnia is filled with protective friends, so that aspect is easily accepted. What’s the use of all this power if not to protect that which is precious to you?

Your cold and feisty treatment towards those you detest is nothing new at Diasomnia either. Most people are scared of accidentally angering those from Diasomnia as they can’t be dealt with by normal means. There’s a reason others find people from this dorm hard to approach. The fact that you’re not throwing shotput balls fast enough to break bones as a warning already puts you amongst the nicer ones.

Dorms to avoid:

Pomefiore

Being bad at chemistry, and all the sciences in general, will already put you at a major disadvantage at the dorm where everyone excels at magic potions and sorcery

You may love sweets but you probably won’t like the vigorous exercise routine you’ll have to complete first to compensate for any and all desserts you consume

Vil can and will make you cry. Furthermore, he might not even stop his berating even if tears are streaming down your face

Daydream in the middle of Vil lecturing you and you will most likely get smacked right then and there

Not all of Pomefiore’s students are arrogant, some are kind and open-minded to a degree, but you’ll definitely meet people who you’ll want to kick off their high horse

Savanaclaw

You dislike arrogant people and bullies, which this dorm has in spades. 

Exasperated sighs fall from your lips as you nearly marvel at how Leona is both so incredibly lazy yet also arrogant.

Cocky upperclassmen who have no issue playing dirty and bullying others also infuriate you. Be careful because they’re not afraid to use magic or brawn to drive a point home

Daydreaming is not really a safe activity at the Savanaclaw dorm given how ready everyone is to fight, even a small slight like bumping into someone is enough to set off a brawl

Other possible dorms:

Heartslabyul

Your love of sweets is thoroughly sated at the Heartslabyul dorm. There are constantly a galore of high-quality sweets thanks to Unbirthday parties and you’ll get your fair share as long as you don’t upset Trey

If Ignihyde is known for little to no social interactions and sticking to itself, then Heartslabyul is the opposite. Like many other Heartslabyul students, you get along with a variety of people. Cater has friends from nearly every dorm, showing her personable Heartslabyul students can be

Don’t mistake this dorm as a cutesy pushover place because of the pretty parties and eccentric activities. Heartslabyul dorm is filled with people who have no qualms getting revenge or doling out punishment. 

Riddle screams “OFF WITH YOUR HEAD” at a moment’s notice, and especially if he catches someone breaking the rules more than once. Trey may come off as a serene brotherly figure but he’s ready to dole out fitting passive-aggressive punishments like any older sibling is. Deuce is ready to throw down at a moment’s notice if someone is disrespectful. So your cold and snarky treatment towards those you dislike probably doesn’t even have anyone blinking an eye unless it breaks a rule

Speaking of rule-breaking, having to memorize 810 rules and daydreaming are not two things that mesh well. If you were part of the dorm pre-overblot, it was rough. It probably still is, but you’re trying!

Bonus: Riddle ensures no students fail so even if you suck with anything science or math-related, you’ve got an incredibly smart, tutor

[lilith-lovett]

Found Families - Home is Where the Hart is - Chapter Twenty One

New chapter. I am so sorry this has taken so long, the past few weeks have been very hectic and stressful but everything has been sorted out. Now I have been a little busy with University preparation as I am moving into my accommodation two weeks today but I will still be posting new chapters, hopefully a lot quicker than this one. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and thank you for your continued support.

Masterlist

Summary: Patton returns to work and Logan spends some time with Dot and Larry

Word Count: 8826 (I am very sorry this is so long)

Warnings: Past child abuse, self-deprecation, anxiety, disordered eating, implied physical abuse, implied depression, chronic pain, past psychological/emotional abuse, homophobia, homophobic parents , food mention (if I have missed anything please let me know)

The following Monday Patton returned to work. He had dropped off Logan and Dee at Dot and Larry’s that morning but the worry only intensified. Logan had only met Dot and Larry once and now he had to spend an entire day at their house. Patton knew they would take care of him but what if it was too soon? Logan still hadn’t fully adjusted to being apart of his family, he struggled to refer to the house as his home and now Patton was leaving him alone but he had no other options. He had used up all of his time off and needed to start his new position. So, he left Logan with a promise he would return to pick him up right after work and instructions for Dot and Larry to call him immediately if anything happened before setting off for work.

Patton loved his job. He had, had several odd jobs throughout his life. From catering and retail during his teenage years to his first ever teaching placement once he completed college. As well as his volunteer positions in many animal shelters and care homes, one of which turned into his most recent job in a supervisor role at his local animal shelter, where he had volunteered from the age of fifteen. Patton adored everyone he worked with and all of the precious puppies and kittens he got to help while working there, but once he was offered a full time teaching position - which also provided a substantial raise in his annual salary and while he knew money was not everything as a single father to four children, the extra money would help - he decided to leave. Returning to his frequent volunteer shifts and allowed a recent hire to be prompted. Patton had been an assistant teacher at the local elementary school for the past two years and he loved it. He loved the kiddos. He loved his co-workers. He loved being able to have an impact so early in their education and imbue the love of learning into them in their important formative years. He was so excited to finally have his own class. He knew at first, he would only be introducing the preschoolers to what they would expect to do be doing when they entered first grade following the Summer Holidays but he was looking forward to all of the activities he had planned for the kiddos.

Patton had dressed in his nicest shirt, in a soft baby blue colour, grey fitted dress pants and his navy blue tie decorated with little dinosaurs just for the kiddos. They always loved his novelty ties. He arrived at the school bright and early and was immediately met with the lovely office woman Josie who he shared recipes with during their break times.

“Hello Patton dear, I heard about your new position. I’m so happy for you darling,” Josie called out from her office, decorated with a variety of beautiful, brightly coloured flower in glass vase and a collection of luscious greenery. She always had the best gardening advice.

“Hi Josie. Thank you so much, I’m definitely looking forward to meeting all the kiddos,” Patton responded with a smile as he signed his name into the register book.

“How is your family, I heard you adopted again?” Josie asked. Patton’s children were a common topic conversation amongst his co-workers, a majority of them were parents themselves and Patton loved hearing about their kiddos and they enjoyed hearing about his in return. They knew of some the difficult circumstances surrounding their adoption and upbringing though Patton chose to keep certain private information to himself and they respected that, but he hadn’t been at work since he began to regularly meet Logan at the Orphanage so he expected them to have a lot of questions.

“Oh yes, Logan. He is well and so is everyone else,” Patton answered.

“That is wonderful, I’m sure you will tell me all about them at break but Madelyne is expecting you in her office,” Josie said as she adjusted her violet coloured glasses. Madelyne or Mrs Harp to the kiddos was the principal of the elementary and one of the nicest people Patton had ever had the pleasure of meeting. It showed in how she treated the kids and they loved her for it. It was refreshing. Patton had experienced his fair share of teachers who were in the profession for all of the wrong reasons. Who believed that shouting at children was an appropriate method of discipline and who punished their ‘disruptive’ behaviour instead of learning the reasons behind it. But Madelyne was different and she had built a system that supported the children both in their learning and their well-being. It was a system Patton both wanted to be apart of and help put into practise.    

“Alright, I’ll go and see her right away. It was nice seeing you Josie,” Patton said pulling his messenger bag further up his shoulder.

“It is wonderful to have you back darling,” Josie replied before returning to her work on her computer, typing away happily as Patton made his way to the principal’s office.

Patton knocked twice before a voice called out from within, inviting him inside. Opening the door, he was met with the brightly coloured and pleasant smelling office of Madelyne Harp, to see her sat behind her desk which was decorated with a variety of cacti each in its own intricately painted plant pot and framed pictures on Madelyne’s own two daughters - one of which was in the same grade as Roman and the other was preparing to graduate high school - who Patton loved hearing about. Madelyne had a welcoming air surrounding her, her smile widened when she saw Patton enter. Her dark hair was braided and coiled on top of her head, secured with a yellow hair clip, she was dressed professionally in a white blouse and floral pattern wide-legged trousers, bangles and necklaces decorating her wrists and neck.

“Welcome back Patton, it is lovely to see you again,” Madelyne exclaimed excitedly standing up from her desk and making her way towards Patton, extending out a hand which he took before returning to her seat and directing Patton to sit in the seat opposite.

“It is wonderful to see you too, I am happy to be back,” Patton said taking a seat.

“And we are glad to have too, How are your children?” She asked balancing her head in her hands.

“They are really good; Roman had his birthday recently, Virgil is still practising his music, we are preparing to send Dee to preschool after the summer and Logan is settling in well,” Patton replied with a smile recalling all of the recent time spent with his kids. Yes, he loved his job but the time off gave him so much more time to spend with his children, especially Logan so he could help him in adjusting to the enormous change. He didn’t wish to reveal too much of the finer details of the adoption as it was a situation he would rather not get into it. “It has been a crazy couple of months but everything is resolved now,”.

“That is good, now lets talk about your new position. As I explained to you before, the preschool class is coming to the school for their introduction days and this will be your permanent class following the summer holidays. I understand you prepared a lesson plan?” Madelyne inquired.

“Yes, I have it right here. I am so excited to meet all of the new kiddos,”Patton replied with a smile, patting the folder in his lap which contained the colour-coordinated lesson plan and schedule he had spent the past week preparing.

“Excellent, we are so happy to have you as a full-time teacher Patton. Now, are you ready to see your classroom?” Madelyne asked standing from her seat.

“Am I ever,” Patton responded shooting up from this seat. Patton had never had his own classroom before. Most of his former positions had been merely temporary such as taking over a class while one of his fellow co-workers were on maternity leave or as a substitute due to another teacher being absent but now he would finally have his own classroom. One in which he could decorate as he pleased with his students artwork and projects, to make it as bright, warm and welcoming as he could.

Madelyne lead Patton from her office to the main portion of the building, passing by various other classrooms, exchanging greetings and small talk with the teachers who inhabited them, all of them old friends who he had worked with closely in the past. Before pausing in front of one classroom in particular, it was relatively large considerably the typical size of a first grade class, its walls were bare and striped of all of its previous artwork. Desks were grouped together and spaced out throughout the classroom, each with the name of one of the children taped to it, as a seating plan. Patton’s desk was located at the front of the classroom, it was empty apart from a large computer but Patton could already envision how he would decorate it; picture frames with photos of his family and friends, plants and flowers, his planner (which he was forcing himself to use more regularly as he was a terribly unorganised person) and he couldn’t wait to get started. A pristine white board and smart board were placed on the wall adjacent to his desk, a collection of colourful board pens in a container just below it, all ready to start writing out his lesson plan for today.

“It’s pretty plain right now but I’m sure you will brighten it up soon enough,” Madelyne said leaning against one of the desk, closest to the front of the classroom.

“It’s perfect!” Patton exclaimed taking a seat at his new desk.

“Well I’m glad you like it, it will be yours for the next school year,” Madelyne said with a smile as she stood, making her way towards the door. “Now, the children will be arriving soon and I need to get ready for the assembly. I’ll see you there Patton,”.

“Yes, bye for now,” Patton said with a wave as Madelyne left. Yes, the assembly, it was the first meeting he would have with the new kiddos. He couldn’t wait.

With Patton returning to work Logan had to stay with Dot and Larry along with Declan as unlike Roman and Virgil he was not currently attending school. Patton had explained his reasoning for not immediately sending Logan to school, being that he wanted Logan to further adjust to living with him and since it was approaching the end of the school year he wouldn’t gain much from attending prematurely which Logan disagreed with. He hadn’t attended formal education since he was six years old, primarily taught himself from textbooks while living with his parents and at the orphanage (though he had support from Maggie) and he had studied everything he could from the textbooks Maggie had given him before he left. Logan needed something to do. But he couldn’t argue with Patton’s decision. Logically it made sense though he despised the feeling of aimlessness. Patton had promised him that he would be enrolled in school the following academic year and he had arranged a meeting for him with the principal of the school, which happened to be Elliott’s father, to discuss his re-entry into education in September. Three months away.

Logan was used to being left on his own. His biological parents did it often whenever they were working - which was fairly often - he relished those fleetingly moments of freedom while his parents were away. Though he continued to spend those moments studying out of fear of his parent’s wrath but without the crushing pressure of his parents criticising his every move. However, he knew Patton disliked the idea of leaving Logan in the house alone as he had expressed this to Logan. He didn’t mind the idea of being left alone as the amount of social interaction he had, had lately was beginning to overwhelm him but Declan was also with him and he did not trust himself to look after a toddler and it appeared Patton did not want to either so he had to stay with Dot and Larry. It was another opportunity to be able to build a relationship with them, however, it was also another circumstance in which they could reject him. He would also be spending an increasing amount of time with them as a result of Patton’s work schedule and as a result they would be further exposed to Logan’s rather unconventional behaviours and habits. What if he had one of his outbursts? What if the anxious and illogical portion of his brain took over his mind? Would they take back all of the kindness they had previously shown him? No. He couldn’t think negatively. Dot and Larry had been nothing but kind and accommodating to him and he was extremely lucky that they had welcomed him into their home.      

Patton had dropped off Logan and Declan at Dot and Larry’s house before making his way to work. Dot and Larry’s house was only a short distance away from Patton’s but couldn’t be more different in style and decoration. It was significantly smaller than Patton’s house which was understandable considering they were a household of two and Patton had children yet it was just as bright and colourful as Patton’s and just as filled with memories. Picture frames covered almost every wall and surface, mostly of themselves and Emile in various locations but there was also a considerable number of Patton and his family over the years. Other decorations included small ornaments, a variety of greenery and blooming plants in decorative vases. Declan had already made a mess on the floor with the assortment of toys he had brought with him for his entertainment. Logan had also brought a small rucksack with him containing a couple of titles he had yet to read to keep himself occupied and out of Dot and Larry’s way so they did not have to satisfy himself as well as Declan, who Logan knew from experience had a very short attention span and it would only be a manner of minutes before he grew tired of the items Patton had provided and began to search for another means of distraction. But for now, he appeared content in his play.

“Okay Logan, make yourself comfortable. We don’t have anything specific planned for today but if you need anything at all please just let us know,” Larry said before he sat down on the floor with Declan and joined in on the play.

“Did you bring anything with you Logan?” Dot asked hanging up her coat and sitting on the sofa.

“Yes, I brought some books with me,” Logan replied pulling the rucksack off of his shoulders to show to Dot.

“Wonderful, I’m guessing you are a little bookworm,” Dot said in a jovial tone. Logan at first did not recognise the term but from association he deducted that it was a term used to refer someone who enjoyed the action of reading books, though he didn’t know how to feel about being referred to as an insect but he assumed from her tone she did not intend it to be hurtful.

“I suppose so, I do enjoy the activity of reading,” Logan answered, he had always loved reading ever since Maggie introduced him to the world of fiction. Losing himself in the words, slipping from his bleak existence into a fantastical world of wonder and intrigue, exploring diverse and unique characters who could take him on an adventure, if just for a short while but he relished in those moments. Alone, just him and his book, his surroundings fading away into a comfortable nothingness that his mind could shape however he wished. It was his escape.

“So do l. Ah, come with me, I want to show you something,” Dot said standing from the couch, gesturing to the stairs before making her way towards them, presumably urging Logan to follow.

Logan had little idea of what Dot wanted to show him but deducing  from their previous interaction he assumed it was related to books. Larry did not follow, remaining on the floor, occupying Declan while Logan was lead upstairs. Glancing around at the walls enclosing the staircase, more photographs caught his attention. They ascended the stairs as he did, the figures within them reversing in age as they did. Seven figures, to five. Three. Four then two. Most of them he recognised as Patton, Patton’s children, Emile and Dot and Larry themselves though the one of the faces was foreign to him but he did not mention it. He followed to the upper floor and into one of the closest rooms. Revealing a library inside. Albeit a small library more akin to a study but Logan was so astounded by the sheer number of titles, he did not care for the correct term. Dark wood shelves stretched from the floor to the ceiling hiding the wall from view, they were filled with books. Young and old, worn and new, a variety of fiction and non-fiction titles in all genres and categories. In the centre of the room, stood a similarly coloured wooden desk, free from all decorations apart for a solitary picture frame. Adjacent to it, a lavender coloured armchair, positioned diagonally against the window, a large grey knitted blanket draped over the back of the chair and decorated with two mustard yellow cushions.

“Welcome to our home library,” Dot announced gesturing to the shelves with a proud smile. “Larry and I both love reading and our little collection has certainly grown a lot. I adore gothic literature, the Brontë sisters are a personal favourite of mine and I can tell you that Virgil certainly didn’t get his taste for books from Larry or Patton,”.

As Logan perused the shelves, he recalled seeing similar titles on Virgil’s bookshelves though not to the extent of Dot’s collection, his appeared much more age appropriate. However, the shelves were not only taken up by fictional novels as there was also a substantial number of non-fiction titles of various topics such as; psychology, computer science, the human psyche and technologies. He guessed some were former books for Emile’s - considering the subject matter was closely related to his field of study and work - but that did not explain the rest.

“Are these yours also?” Logan asked pointing to the shelves which held the non-fiction books.

“Oh no, they are Larry’s, most of them are about computers or some such things. He is the tech genius in this family, I am hopeless with all of that,” Dot responded with a chuckle. Logan had received his own knowledge on technological systems and equipment exclusively from books with very little interactions with any electronic devices. Maggie owned a laptop and cellular device, she often brought them with her to work and at times allowed Logan to study them and use them for research purposes for information he couldn’t find in his textbooks. “Do you also like non-fiction?”.

“I do. I particularly like scientific practises and research journals though they do not provide the same sense of escapism as fiction does,” Logan answered as he continued to study the various books on the shelves, both fiction and non-fiction, some of which he had read many of which he hadn’t.

“It does indeed, reading gives us a place to go when we are stuck in reality,” Dot said which made a lot of sense. When Logan was trapped with his parents, he would read everything he could get his hands on for a few fleeting moments of happiness before it was torn from him again. When he was trapped within the orphanage, he treasured the books Maggie gave him and spent every free moment he had in the wondrous world of the stories he read until the was forced to return. “You can borrow any of our books any time you like Logan, I know they will be safe in your capable hands,”.

Logan did not know how to respond. Again they were giving him more. Despite the fact, he had barged him way into their family and lives and was undeserving of of their gifts and hospitality. He doubted they would listen to his protests considering the kindness they had bestowed upon him so far, so he remained quiet. A few moments passed, of Logan continuing the browse the collection as Dot watched on, before the door to the library open revealing Larry with along with Declan perched upon his shoulders, clutching his snake stuffed animal in his fist.

“Hello, we were wondering where you had both disappeared to. Admiring our library I see?” Larry questioned removing Declan from his shoulder, placing him on the floor and rubbing his shoulder so if it caused him pain.

“Yes, it is a rather impressive collection,” Logan answered.

“It is and it is one of my favourite rooms in the house,” Larry said glancing wistfully around the room. “The one thing we both wanted when we were looking at house, was our own personal library and now we have it,”.

“Read!” Declan exclaimed running over to where Logan was stood, tugging on the fabric of his trousers.

“Oh, would you like me to read you a story Dee?” Larry asked, crouching with some difficultly to Declan’s height.

“No, Lo-Lo read to me,” Declan insisted continuing to tug persistently at him.

“I think Logan would rather have some time to himself Dee darling,” Dot said attempting to reason with the headstrong toddler.

“No, it is alright,” Logan interrupted. “ Declan and I often read together, it wouldn’t be a problem to do it now,”

It was true, ever since the first night Logan arrived at Patton’s house when he read to Declan in order to calm him down, it became a near daily occurrence. Declan at any hour would simply appear, book in hand or choose one of Logan’s books for him to read and they would sit in the armchair - which appears to have inadvertently become Logan’s - for however long it took for Declan to either fall asleep or lose interest which rather surprisingly the former was more common.

“Oh well then, we’ll leave you two to it,” Dot said with a hint of surprise in her voice, ushering herself and Larry out of the room. “You are welcome to stay in here and we’ll call for you when it is lunch time,”

Dot and Larry left and Logan was left with Declan, looking up at him expectantly. He took a seat on the armchair and assisted Declan in climbing into the space left beside him but he chose to instead sit on Logan’s lap as he often did with Patton and was bouncing with excitement. Logan opened his rucksack pulling out one of the three books he had brought with, his bookmark poking out from the pages, he opened it allowing Declan to hold the bookmark and began to read.

Patton stood at the side of the assembly hall with his fellow teachers as the kiddos were herded into the hall and directed to sit in their designated year group. He was brimming with excitement and nerves. There they were. His new class. He actually had his own class. He couldn’t wait to get started. He could see it all now. His first lesson. Their first school trip. The Halloween, Christmas and end of year party. Patton knew he would try his darndest to make it perfect for the kids. He was quickly broken out of his day dream by the sound of Madelyne’s voice ringing out throughout the hall.

“Good morning children and welcome to our wonderful school, my name is Mrs Harp and I will be your Principal when you all return after the summer holidays and it is time to start the new school year,” Madelyne announced with a bright smile which was returned by many of the new students. “Now, you are all here today to get a taste of what you will be doing in your new classes and give you the opportunity to meet your new teachers, especially our brand new first graders and I’m sure will all do amazingly and will continue to do so throughout your years at our school,”.

Madelyne continued her speech, discussing the curriculum, the school’s core values and their importance, went over the school rules and what was expected behaviour wise from every student, gave a brief introduction to the other staff members they would be regularly interacting with; dinner ladies, support workers and various others and set out the activities for the day, explaining the times break and lunch would be and when they would be collected at the end of the school day.

“And now all of that is out of the way. Are you ready to get started” Madelyne asked the assembled children, her voice carrying throughout the hall. A resounding ‘Yes’ from the children answered her question. “Excellent, let’s start with our soon-to-be first graders. Allow me to introduce you to your new teacher, Mr Hart,”. Patton waved, stepping out from the line, identifying himself to the kids.

“Hiya everyone, I’m so excited to finally meet you all. Now, if you could all stand up for me and line up single-file, I’ll take you to our classroom,” Patton said barely able to contain his excitement as they all stood together and shuffled into line, it was a little wonky but a line nonetheless and they all looked up at him with their bright eyes, waiting for their next instruction. “Okay everyone, follow me,”.

Patton turned, flashing a smile at his fellow teachers who stood on the side waiting for their own classes, he received a couple of smiles and a thumbs up in return, as he walked the children all shuffled behind him, excitedly whispering to each other which only made Patton’s smile grow wider. They were already becoming friends. Eventually, they made it to their classroom.

“Okay everyone, before we go in I need you all to put your bags and jackets away. Everyone should have their own compartment and peg with your name, lets do three at a time, okay?” Patton said pointing of the first three children in the line, then the next, until they had all neatly put away their belongings and were waiting patiently to enter the classroom. “Let’s head in,”.

All the children shuffled into the classroom, talking animatedly to each other, gasping in wonder at the scale of the classroom and the bright colours which decorated the walls and the carpet. They all gathered towards the front of the classroom by the board and sat cross-legged on the floor, glancing up at him, waiting for their next instruction. Patton took a seat at his desk, swirling around on his spiny chair to face the children, the register ready on his lap.

“Good morning everyone, it is lovely to meet you finally, I’m so excited to start working with all of you,” Patton said clapping his hands together in excitement. “Now, today will be an easy, breezy day of everyone just getting to know each other and doing some fun activities. Okay, lets start with an exercise to help everyone learn each others name and get to know each other. I’ll go through the register and call out your names and when you hear your name you can say an interesting fact about yourself, do an funny dance move or just wave to everyone, if you would like. For example, hi, my name is Mr Hart and I like puppies and kittens or my name is Mr Hart…”.

Patton raised his arms and began waving them in the air, once he spoke, inducing a chorus and squeals, giggles and laughter from the children which brought a warm sensation to his chest as he looked upon their smiling faces.

“Okay, lets get started. Lilly Adams,” Patton announced and the bubbly, blonde, smiling girl seated at the front raised her arm.

“My name is Lilly and I like puppies and kittens too!” Lilly exclaimed her pigtails bouncing with the abrupt movement. Patton almost squealed aloud at how adorable she was. Patton loved having boys but had secretly always wanted a little girl.

“That’s wonderful,” Patton said beaming a smile at Lilly. “Okay , Blair Anderson.

Patton continued down the register, calling out each name as they told either a fact about themselves or did a funny action. A few of his personal favourites were Jacob’s elongated tale about his various fish and Maddie’s very impressive cartwheel, though he did have to warn her against it as she very nearly cartwheeled into a table, potentially injuring herself and others. Though it was quite impressive.

“Okay last name, Oren Wood,” Patton called out and a silence fell over the classroom as the children looked around for the named pupil, who never spoke up or raised their hand. Patton assumed they were perhaps shy and didn’t want to speak up in front of the entire class. “If you don’t want to speak, can you raise your hand so I can see who you are?”.

After a short pause, a small boy seated right at the back meekly raised his hand before quickly retracting it and averting his eyes to the floor when people began to turn and look at him. Patton noticed the discomfort from the attention placed on him, he suspected me may be anxious about the change in the environment or the activity itself and didn’t wish to contribute to his anxiety any further.

“Oren, you don’t have to talk if your don’t want to, how about a hand motion?” Patton said with a snaking motion of his hand and arm, hoping it would encourage Oren to do the same. “Can you do that for me?”.

After a moment of hesitation, Oren raised his trembling hands and begins to move them in very specific motions, pointing towards himself before raising his hands to his mouth and pressing his index finger and thumb together repeatedly. The rest of the children whispered to one another in confusion but Patton recognised the actions as sign language. ‘I like birds’. To be specific. He hadn’t been informed of any children who used sign language but luckily he had learned it in high school and continued to hone his skills throughout the years, in order to communicate with some of the children he had worked with in the past and was currently teaching it to Virgil so he would be able to communicate whenever he became non-verbal or didn’t want to talk. It was a very valuable skill.

“Oh you know sign language, I do too!” Patton exclaimed and responded in sign language while also speaking allowed for the benefit of the other children. “I like birds too,”.

A small smile crept into Oren’s face as Patton responded in sign language and it made Patton’s heart swell with pride at the sight. Patton continued with his lesson plan, directing all of the children to their new seats, allowing them to make friends with her new elbow partners before progressing with his plan. Initially going over the general classroom rules, based on behaviour both in class and in the playground towards other students and himself, the curriculum they would be following once they returned after the summer and his own expectations. As they listened with intense curiosity and a look of wonder on their faces as he described everything the future held for them within his classroom, as he could feel his excitement building. He was actually doing this. He had his own class. And he couldn’t wait to get started.

“Logan…Declan…Lunch is ready!” Larry called out from downstairs just as Logan had finished reading to Declan who was beginning to grow restless and agitated with hunger so a lunch break was welcome.

Logan descended the stairs with Declan held securely in his arms, careful not to jostle him or make contact with any of his burn spots which appeared to be bothering him so not to cause him any further discomfort. He set Declan down on the floor who sprinted towards the kitchen table, where a series of flavours of crofters were laid out in preparation for lunch. Larry assisted Declan into a chair and began to help him prepare his food, a sandwich slathered in a thick layer of strawberry jam.

“Patton told us you liked Crofters, it seems to be trend with you boys,” Dot joked taking a seat at the table, a steaming cup of sweet smelling tea in her hands. “Go head, pick anything you’d like,”.

Logan took a seat at the table, directly in front of Dot and adjacent to Declan. An empty plate and glass set in front of him, a variety of jars of Crofters, a loaf of seeded bread and several flavours of juice were also laid out for him to help himself to, though he specifically chose to wait until everyone had served themselves before serving himself. A blackcurrant jam sandwich and a glass of water, cutting it into appropriate sections before eating, with little question from Dot or Larry. They filled much of the conversation with humorous anecdotes from their rather interesting lives, basic small talk and thankfully very few questions directed towards himself. He much preferred listening to them talk without having to contribute.

“Oh, that reminds me, Emile should be arriving soon,” Dot said once she had finished her own meal before removing her plate, along with Larry’s (which was also empty) and Declan’s who had only left the crusts of his sandwich, much of the jam staining his face and hands. While Logan had two near perfect quarters of his sandwich remaining on his late. “I’m sure he will want to talk to you Logan,”.

Logan had talked to Emile very little since arriving at Patton’s, outside of their initial meeting which was also quite brief, merely an introduction before he had to leave and much of their interactions since then had been similarly short. Primarily involving Emile asking Logan how he was doing, to which he replied with a simple yet calculated answer to prevent any further questioning. To be entirely truthful, Logan had purposefully been avoiding communicating with Emile, primarily out of fear of what he would ask. Considering he was a therapist and commonly uncovered the true meaning and emotions behind a person’s words and Logan would rather that not happen. So not to expose his true feelings and fears to anyone else as he believed if Emile discovered anything about it he would immediately relay it back to Patton which would severely impact his view of Logan. He didn’t have any ill-feelings towards Emile but his anxiety certainly heightened whenever Emile was present and now he was coming over with the intention of talking with Logan. He lost the remainder of his appetite.

“Are you finished, Logan?” Larry asked gesturing towards his plate.

“Oh yes, thank you,” Logan said allowing Larry to remove his plate, only receiving a brief look of concern but didn’t question him for which Logan was thankful. Everyone relocated from the kitchen table to the living room to wait for Emile’s arrival. Declan had returned to playing with his toys on the floor, Larry was cleaning up the kitchen and Dot was sat of the sofa, a pair of thick needles in her hands entwined in a cream coloured wool. Logan decided to take a seat on the adjacent sofa, bringing out one of his books to read until Emile’s arrival.

They only waited a short while before Emile arrived, Dot, Larry and Declan immediately got up to greet him, while Logan merely closed his book and stood. Back from the remainder of the family who gathered by the door as Emile entered, dressed in his usual shirt and tie combination presumably coming from his place of work, his unnaturally coloured hair neatly combed to the side which was quickly dishevelled by him running a hand through it.

“Hello, Emile dear,” Dot exclaimed immediately wrapping her arms around Emile’s torso, as he was considerably taller than her, which he returned with a bright smile before catching the gaze of Logan.

“Hello mum, how are you?” Emile asked breaking eye contact with Logan as he broke away from Dot.

“Oh I’m fine, we are all good,” Dot responded returning to her seat on the sofa as Emile entered but he didn’t get far before Declan threw his tiny body into Emile’s legs, nearly knocking him off balance.

“Woah there!” Emile exclaimed in surprise as he managed to catch himself, regaining his balance, leaning down to lift Declan into his arms. “Hello to you too, Dee,”.

“Ucle Emmy!” Declan chirped in excitement, as he threw his arms around Emile’s neck, in what resembled a hug though Emile seemed some what pained by the force of Declan’s grip.

“Is your shoulder bothering you again?” Larry asked a hint of concern displayed on his face as he took Declan from Emile, which produced an expression of relief across Emile’s features. “We have painkillers and ice, if you need it,”.

“I’m alright dad, you don’t need to worry,” Emile replied gently rubbing a particular spot on his left shoulder, a strained smile appearing on his face. Emile’s behaviour perplexed Logan. He was clearly in pain yet refused the methods of short-term relief Larry provided. But why? “How are you Logan?”.

Logan jolted at the sudden mention of his name. He had spent so long attempting to read Emile that he had forgotten the true meaning of his visit. To speak with him.

“Oh, uh…yes, I mean…I am satisfactory,” Logan stuttered averting his eyes to the floor as his face grew hot with embarrassment.

“How about we take Dee to the park and we’ll leave you two to talk here?” Dot asked before disappearing into the kitchen, then returning with her bag. “Does that sound fun, Dee?”.

“Yes!” Declan shouted immediately running off presumably to collect his shoes and coat, followed by Larry.

They left a short while later, several handfuls of Declan’s toys he demanded that they bring with them on their outing, leaving Logan alone with Emile. He sat on the sofa, book clenched tight within his hands, staring so intently at the cover the words of the title began to warp and distort. Afraid of what Emile would ask of him. Hoping he could avoid the conversation entirely but that as simply wishful thinking.

“Let’s go sit outside, have you seen the garden yet?” Emile inquired Logan forced his eyes to meet Emile’s, they were bright yet soft, intense yet kind. He stood with the intention of following him outside, shaking his head in response to his question. “I think you will like, I always did as a kid,”.

Logan followed Emile outside, into the garden and just as he passed the threshold he was met with the most incredible sight. The garden was small but beautiful. The grass was lusciously green, swaying softly in the gentle breeze, surrounded by a variety of potted and planted flowers of every colour, gathering in an awe-inspiring spectrum of shades. To both the right and left of the porch where Logan and Emile stood, where two patches of earth and soil, sprouted fresh fruits and vegetables, similar to Patton’s but considerably larger with a greater variety of produce ready to be picked.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Emile asked gazing out across the garden, as if lost in a memory.

“Yes,” Logan answered almost breathless, without considering the question or his answer. He was simply too enamoured by the appearance of the garden but he was swiftly broken out of his daze by the painful sound of metal scraping against wood as Emile pulled out two chairs for them to sit.

A silence washed over them as they sat. Logan had assumed Emile would immediately start questioning him, he had been mentally preparing himself for a barrage of personal questions but it didn’t come. He risked a glance towards Emile and saw he was gazing out onto the garden, a wistful perhaps longing expression on his face but Logan couldn’t discern as to why. Though Emile no longer lived with Dot and Larry, they evidently had a close relationship and shared no ill-will between each other and as a result would be allowed to visit and spend time in the garden, whenever he pleased. Emile looked back at him, appearing to snap himself out of the daze he was in when he noticed Logan looking at him.

“Ah, sorry. I was just thinking about the past,” Emile said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he smiled nervously. “So, how are you settling in?”.

“It has been fine, Patton has been kind and accommodating as have Roman and Virgil,” Logan answered averting his gaze once again, returning it to the closed book in his hands.

“That is good, Patton had mentioned he was worried about how you were handling the change. He also told me you had have a rough time recently, would you like to discuss it?” Emile asked. Logan didn’t, however he didn’t know how to communicate that without sounding rude. “You don’t have to if you don’t to, we could talk about something else if you would prefer?”.

“I apologise,” Logan said unsure of Emile’s reaction to his refusal.

“No, no. You don’t need to apologise, I’m sorry if I was pushing you. You don’t need to worry about not wishing to discuss personal issues, I only want you to be comfortable,” Emile said a warm smile stretching across his face. “How is Patton doing?”.

“I believe he is well,” Logan responded thankful for the change in conversation.

“That is good, he thinks I worry about him too much. He always get on at me for it but I can’t help it,” Emile said with a chuckle.

“That is understandable, you evidently have a close relationship,” Logan said he had noticed the close relationship shared between Emile and Patton, their friendship more resembled the traditional sibling relationships he read about in some of his books. He initially believed they were siblings when he meet Emile for the first time.

“Yeah, we have been close for a while, since middle school actually,” Emile said reclining back in his chair, gazing out over the garden once again, as if recalling a memory. “He has had a difficult time in life that is why I worry, he isn’t the best at taking care of himself particularly when he started adopting, especially with Virgil and Dee. So, I have been trying to keep an eye on him,”.

Logan averted his eyes once again. So, Patton had, had difficult experience with his adoptions in the past. Was he causing more issues for Patton? He had already caused so many problems for him. Was he making everything worse?

“Are you alright, Logan?” Emile asked seemingly having noticed Logan’s change in behaviour.

“Ah, yes, I am fine,” Logan said quickly, hoping for the conversation to return to Patton.

“Okay, I need you to know, Patton certainly doesn’t regret adopting any of you, he loves you all very much and would give anything to ensure you are happy and well-taken care of. Okay?”. Emile said closing the distance between himself and Logan, placing a hand on the edge of Logan’s chair.

“Okay,” Logan responded he still struggled to believe that he was nothing but a burden on Patton and his family but Emile assurances of the opposite was somewhat comforting.

“How about we head inside, I’m sure mum, dad and Dee will be back soon,”Emile said standing from his chair, gazing once again at the garden before returning inside, Logan following behind.

Once Dot, Larry and Declan returned from their outing, Emile only stayed for a short while before leaving. Sharing a hug with his parents and Declan, directing a simple wave towards Logan which he returned as he left. It was fastly approaching the time Patton would be leaving work to collect himself and Declan to take back to the house, so instead of returning to the library he decided to remain in the living room with Dot and Larry who were closely supervising Declan, who was sitting at the kitchen table, entertaining himself with some of his toys.

“So, how was your little talk with Emile?” Dot inquired as Logan sat down.

“It is very informative,” Logan responded considering how much he learned about Patton and Emile’s relationship with one another and more about Patton.

“Was it? Well that is good,” She replied lifting her needles once again.

“Actually, may I ask you both a question?” Logan asked drawing the attention of both Dot and Larry.

“Yes, of course Logan. Ask away,” Larry prompted with a hand gesturing urging him to continue, listening in rapt attention.

“How are you so close to Patton? Emile mentioned that they initially meet in school yet you appear as if you are blood-related family,” Logan inquired he had been questioning the relationship between Patton and Emile’s family ever since meeting Dot and Larry. Why were they considered ‘honorary’ grandparents and not simply grandparents? Were Patton’s biological parents not involved with with family?

“Ah, Patton did say you were a curious one. I suppose it is a rather confusing situation, so it is understandable you wondering about it,” Dot answered setting down her needles in her lap. “It’s true, we meet Patton when he and Emile were in middle school and we were going through a rough time, he was a wonderful child so kind and caring. It was a pleasure having him over so we never questioned why we never meet his parents initially but we later found out why…”.

“Patton’s parents are horrible people who did not deserve such an exceptional young man as a son!” Larry exclaimed with such intensity that Logan flinched.

“Larry, calm down, please,” Dot urged resting a hand on her husband thigh, in an effort to calm him which was effective as he quietened, averting his eyes and clasping Dot’s hand in his own. “He is right though. They were incredibly hard on him, especially in regards to his education and they consistently put him down, they never…physically…abused him as far as I am aware but I know what they did still affects him,”.

“What did they do?” Logan asked intently listening as they retold the story. Dot and Larry shared a look Logan was unable to decipher before Dot sighed and continued.

“When he was seventeen he came out to his parents as pansexual and they…didn’t take it well. They believe it is a sin to identify as any sexuality other than heterosexual, they kicked him out. They threw their only son out onto the street because of the possibility of him loving another man,” Dot said the seething anger seeping in to her tone. “That is when he turned up on our doorstep and of course we allowed him to stay with us. He hasn’t seen or spoken to them since. He made it through school without them, he made it through several jobs without, he adopted all of you without them and has been a better parent than they ever were to him. Patton became the person he is today without them,”.

“We may not be related by blood but we are family by choice. Patton’s own family did not accept him so he built a new one and we were more than happy to become apart of it, as are you Logan,” Dot continued, stretching over to rest a hand on Logan’s forearm.

Logan was silent, processing the information. He had never expected Patton to have experienced such a traumatic upbringing and abusive relationship with his biological parents, removing him from the house because of an uncontrollable factor - he didn’t know the specific term Dot used though Maggie had taught him the difference between certain sexualities as he knew very little about relationships - which he had been told shouldn’t matter. Patton was the kindest, most accommodating and good-natured person he had ever met, he had persisted in the face of adversity throughout his own adoption, supporting him throughout the difficult situation they experienced together presumably also with Roman, Virgil and Declan during their own adoptions - though he didn’t know the details of their specific adoptions and home situation - and had yet to punish Logan for his less than favourable behaviour and traits. Logan could not comprehend how anyone could treat someone like Patton so terribly.

“But he is with us now, he is away from them and they can’t hurt him any more just like your parents can’t hurt you. You are apart of our family now too,” Dot said softly squeezing Logan’s forearm, a warm smile spreading across her face as the familiar warm sensation built within his chest.

Family. He had never had a true family before. He never allowed himself to truly be apart of one but perhaps he could be apart of this one.  

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[littlewomenpodcast]

Jo March falls in love to a man that is handsome-not-handsome

scenes in chronological order :D

New York, seeing Fritz for the first time

​when the parlor door opened and shut, and someone began to hum, Kennst Du Das Land, like a big bumblebee. It was dreadfully improper, I know, but I couldn't resist the temptation, and lifting one end of the curtain before the glass door, I peeped in. Professor Bhaer was there, and while he arranged his books, I took a good look at him. A regular German--rather stout, with brown hair tumbled all over his head, a bushy beard, good nose, the kindest eyes I ever saw, and a splendid big voice that does one's ears good, after our sharp or slipshod American gabble. His clothes were rusty, his hands were large, and he hadn't a really handsome feature in his face, except his beautiful teeth, yet I liked him, for he had a fine head, his linen was very nice, and he looked like a gentleman. 

New York, springtime

Why everybody liked him was what puzzled Jo, at first. He was neither rich nor great, young nor handsome, in no respect what is called fascinating, imposing, or brilliant, and yet he was as attractive as a genial fire, and people seemed to gather about him as naturally as about a warm hearth. He was poor, yet always appeared to be giving something away; a stranger, yet everyone was his friend; no longer young, but as happy-hearted as a boy; plain and peculiar, yet his face looked beautiful to many, and his oddities were freely forgiven for his sake. Jo often watched him, trying to discover the charm, and at last decided that it was benevolence which worked the miracle. If he had any sorrow, `it sat with its head under its wing', and he turned only his sunny side to the world. There were lines upon his forehead, but Time seemed to have touched him gently, remembering how kind he was to others. The pleasant curves about his mouth were the memorials of many friendly words and cheery laughs, his eyes were never cold or hard, and his big hand had a warm, strong grasp that was more expressive than words.

His very clothes seemed to partake of the hospitable nature of the wearer. They looked as if they were at ease, and liked to make him comfortable. His capacious waistcoat was sugges- tive of a large heart underneath. His rusty coat had a social air, and the baggy pockets plainly proved that little hands often went in empty and came out full. His very boots were benevolent, and his collars never stiff and raspy like other people's.

Concord, couple years later, Fritz comes courting

A stealthy glance now and then refreshed her like sips of fresh water after a dusty walk, for the sidelong peeps showed her several propitious omens. Mr. Bhaer's face had lost the absent-minded expression, and looked all alive with interest in the present moment, actually young and handsome, she thought

"Dear old fellow! He couldn't have got himself up with more care if he'd been going a-wooing," said Jo to herself, and then a sudden thought born of the words made her blush so dreadfully that she had to drop her ball, and go down after it to hide her face

Why is Laurie so much better and mature in this book scene, than in any movie adaptations?.

The song was considered a great success, and the singer retired covered with laurels. But a few minutes afterward, he forgot his manners entirely, and stared at Amy putting on her bonnet, for she had been introduced simply as `my sister', and on one had called her by her new name since her came. He forgot himself still further when Laurie said, in his most gracious manner, at parting...

"My wife and I are very glad to meet you, sir. Please remember that there is always a welcome waiting for you over the way."

Then the Professor thanked him so heartily and looked so suddenly illuminated with satisfaction, that Laurie thought him the most delightfully demonstrative old fellow he ever met.

The Umbrella & love confessions, damn girl, Jo really loves his “Jove-like” forehead 

It was certainly proposing under difficulties, for even if he had desired to do so, Mr. Bhaer could not go down upon his knees, on account of the mud. Neither could he offer Jo his hand, except figuratively, for both were full. Much less could he indulge in tender remonstrations in the open street, though he was near it. So the only way in which he could express his rapture was to look at her, with an expression which glorified his face to such a degree that there actually seemed to be little rainbows in the drops that sparkled on his beard. If he had not loved Jo very much, I don't think he could have done it then, for she looked far from lovely, with her skirts in a deplorable state, her rubber boots splashed to the ankle, and her bonnet a ruin. Fortunately, Mr. Bhaer considered her the most beautiful woman living, and she found him more `Jove-like" than ever, though his hatbrim was quite limp with the little rills trickling thence upon his shoulders (for he held the umbrella all over Jo), and every finger of his gloves needed mending.

Jo never, never would learn to be proper, for when he said that as they stood upon the steps, she just put both hands into his, whispering tenderly, "Not empty now," and stooping down, kissed her Friedrich under the umbrella. It was dreadful, but she would have done it if the flock of draggle-tailed sparrows on the hedge had been human beings, for she was very far gone indeed, and quite regardless of everything but her own happiness. Though it came in such a very simple guise, that was the crowning moment of both their lives, when, turning from the night and storm and loneliness to the household light and warmth and peace waiting to receive them, with a glad "Welcome home!" Jo led her lover in, and shut the door.

[thatvixenchick]

AUgust Day 22 - Futuristic

AoHina from Haikyuu

Hinata grew up on a small planet known for its convenient location as an intergalactic rest stop. Due to the variety of people and cultures he grew up around, he found himself fascinated by things that brought so many different people together. Particularly, sports. He became hyper interested in Volleyball. It was an archaic human sport, but it was showing a resurgence in the galactic sphere with a new modern twist.

Hinata very much wanted to play, but it was still rather niche, and there wasn’t much he could do other than practice on his own. When he came of age and had a chance to take a tour of the local space stations, he immediately headed to the one that had a volleyball team. The team was small and mostly made of humans, which wasn’t surprising, but they were welcoming and let him join.

The only downside was that they all called him a rabbit. At first he’d been confused, but when he looked up the earth creature, he was offended. Just because he had similar ears and tail, and had more energy than humans, didn’t mean he looked anything like a rabbit. Besides, he was orange!

Other than that, Hinata enjoyed learning the game and working with the other humans. His first time playing an anti-grav game had been thrilling. Space was awesome! In what felt like no time at all, they had their first match.

It turned out he was the only one of his species to take up the sport, so he was noticed a lot, especially by the taller players. Game after game, he pushed himself to beat the expectations of his species. This just made people notice him more. He did his best to be as intimidating as they were, but he was honestly more terrified than he wanted to admit to himself. It was tough being tiny.

Then there was the day he met Aone, a giant of a man with silver skin that even the other players walked away from. Hinata was shaking in his boots, but Aone only inclined his head politely. Aone didn’t speak, but he was intense while playing and perfectly polite after the match. He never spoke a word, so Hinata had to find Aone’s name in the player’s guide of the game.

It was their second meeting that Aone held out his hand with a questioning look. One of Hinata’s teammates said that Aone’s species were empaths and didn’t have a formal language. Aone was asking permission to touch. Feeling bad about not being informed, Hinata stumbled forward and shoved his face into Aone’s big palm.

It should have been embarrassing, but instead, it was soothing. Whatever Aone was doing had Hinata all but purring, the fine hairs on his body standing on end. He smiled and nuzzled into Aone’s skin without really realizing he was doing it. Aone gently rubbed behind Hinata’s ear, and it felt blissful.

Hinata’s teammates yelled that they were leaving, jolting Hinata from the moment. He offered an embarrassed bow and ran after them. A week later, he received a gift. It was a signed 3D projector image of Hinata’s favorite volleyball player. He was insanely excited, but confused that it had come from Aone. How had Aone known?

Hinata looked up Aone’s species, but the technical jargon was too much to parse. It had something to do with gifts that were meaningful to emotions? All Hinata knew was that Aone had seen what made Hinata happy and sent a present. Empaths sure were nice! There was something in the article about returning the gesture, but Hinata wasn’t an emotion mind reader. He didn’t know what to send.

He spent a few days thinking about it and decided to get something Aone might find useful. It was the best Hinata could do. So he put together a compact, portable touchpad with a basic list of preset language prompts. Such programs were normally used for tourists incapable of making enough speech noises for a translator. Hinata added on a few phrases specific to volleyball and grinned wide at his creation, sending it off promptly.

The next time Hinata and Aone met at a game, Aone was using Hinata’s gift. Hinata lit up like a sun and asked if Aone liked it. The little viewscreen popped up with a “yes.” Aone held out his hand, and Hinata eagerly nodded, then wasn’t sure if nodding translated (after all, he’d picked up the habit from his human teammates) and just shoved his face into Aone’s hand again. After all, it had worked the first time.

The transference was stronger now, and Hinata had an easier time understanding it. Suddenly, the words of the article he’d read made more sense. Aone had sent a courting gift. He hadn’t expected Hinata to respond. It was just supposed to be a confession because his species didn’t believe in hiding emotions. But Hinata had responded. Aone assumed this was a misunderstanding and had spent a long time determining how best to transfer this information in a way Hinata could process.

It should have been embarrassing, but it wasn’t. Aone was so open and understanding, and Hinata found that rather refreshing. His species tended to be more circumspect and hidden, always expected to put on a pleasant face. All of Aone’s emotions were on display, happy and sad, and with no fear of that.

Hinata couldn’t help but be a little curious. He opened his eyes and looked up at Aone, hoping to transfer the idea of trying it out between them. Aone smiled and nodded. Hinata grinned, his happy emotions radiating down their connection, and said a little too loudy, “So you really wanna try dating?” Aone held up the “yes” on his display again.

And as cute of an ending as that would be, I have to consider that Hinata’s teammates are all worried that Hinata is gonna be shocked and scared at the size of Aone’s genitals. What they don’t know is that Hinata’s species is known for their marathon sex nights and poor Aone was wrung dry by morning.