#why do you fail so hard at anything to do with anthropology?

[vermin-disciple]

This line is just deeply funny to me, coming from an alleged archaeologist.

[bradshawsbaby]

Forever Valentine

Pairing: Rooster x Fiancée!Reader

Author’s Note: It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written anything for the Bradshaws, huh? I had a weird anxiety about writing this one, which I think was due in part to the fact that I haven’t written for them since Christmas. But I’m happy with how this little story came out! It was written for @roosterforme​’s #love is in the air tgm challenge! The song that inspired it is Can’t Take My Eyes Off You by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Pre-wedding stress, a smidge of angst, and a whole lot of fluff.

You felt like you were going to cry.

You couldn’t remember ever feeling so stressed out about anything in your life, and that included the time you registered for that anthropology class in the spring semester of your senior year thinking it would be an easy three credits, only for it to end up being more work than all four years of college combined. At least your stress had made sense then—bioarchaeology wasn’t necessarily the most chipper of topics. But now? This was supposed to be the most exciting time of your life, and you felt like you were ruining all the joy by letting yourself get so worked up.

In a little over a week, you would be walking down the aisle to join your life forevermore to the man you loved more than anything in the world.

And yet, you were frantic.

Despite the fact that you and Bradley had been engaged for over a year, and that you’d been planning your wedding for nearly as long, it still felt like there wasn’t enough time to get everything done. The past month alone had felt like a whirlwind, an endless marathon where you kept running and pushing, and yet somehow never made it past the finish line.

Bradley had been amazing, as he always was. While he couldn’t really care less about wedding details—he would have been just as happy getting married in bathing suits at The Hard Deck as he was to get married in his dress whites at the church you’d booked last year—he never failed to offer his unending support and encouragement. He went with you on every venue tour, tasted every flavor of cake imaginable, let you drive him to the brink of insanity comparing floral arrangements, sat up with you all night making seating charts, left you encouraging notes when you went dress shopping, and held you tightly whenever the stress of it all became too much and you just needed to bawl your eyes out.

If you had ever doubted that Bradley Bradshaw was the man for you—which you hadn’t—his devotion and patience during the wedding planning process would have sealed the deal for you. You still weren’t sure how you had ever gotten so blessed, but at least now you’d have the rest of your life to thank your lucky stars for it.

At the moment, however, you weren’t exactly feeling blessed. Stressed was probably the more appropriate term.

In just a week and a day, you and Bradley would finally be saying “I do,” but it felt like there were a million things that needed to be done before that time. Penny and Phoenix had been an amazing help, and your mom would be here in a few days to help tie up some of the last minute details, but you’d always had a hard time delegating and ended up putting too much pressure on your own shoulders. Bradley affectionately scolded you about it all the time.

“Honey, why don’t you let Penny help you with this?” he’d asked one night, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he watched you fuss over the menu options for the reception. “You know she’d be happy to.”

“I know,” you’d nodded in response, brow furrowed in concentration. “But I don’t want to bother her.”

“Can I do anything?” he asked on other occasions, always looking a bit terrified by all the checklists and folders you had scattered around you at any given time.

“No, no, it’s okay,” you always rushed to reassure him. “I’ve got it.”

Still, he always stayed with you and made sure, in the midst of everything, that you were eating enough and drinking plenty of water. And that mattered so much more than anything else he could have done.

Your heart was pierced with guilt now as you sat in the living room of your apartment, making final confirmations with vendors and going over your checklists for the one hundred millionth time. Your fiancé was such a good man—the best man you had ever known. And he had been your rock through all of this. Not only were you concerned about the wedding and your honeymoon plans, but you and Bradley had also recently closed on the apartment where you were going to begin your lives together as husband and wife, and planning for that move was taking up a good chunk of space in your brain. Still, he had never once complained about how scatter-brained you’d been recently. On the contrary, he’d spent the past several weeks trying everything in his power to lift some of your self-imposed pressure off your shoulders. Bradley had done nothing but show his love for you at every turn.

And how did you repay all that love and kindness? You’d forgotten that today was Valentine’s Day.

Bradley had stayed over at your place the night before, as he often did, but you had been up so late, talking on the phone with your mom for hours, that you’d slept through both of his alarms this morning. Evidently he hadn’t wanted to disturb you, because you had no memory at all of him climbing out of bed and getting ready for work. When you did wake up a few hours later, however, you walked into the kitchen to find a yellow rose—your favorite—sitting beside the coffee pot, along with a little handwritten Post-it note stuck to the machine.

Happy Valentine’s Day, honey! I love you so much and I can’t wait to be your husband. Just 8 more days!

You felt like you’d been hit by a freight train. Despite all your careful planning and compulsive checklists, you’d somehow completely overlooked the fact that today was February 14th. You felt like the world’s worst fiancée.

In all fairness, you and Bradley had already talked about how you weren’t going to do anything big for Valentine’s Day this year.

“I know it’ll be a week before the wedding, and you’ve got so much going on, so we can keep it simple this year,” Bradley had murmured as the two of you had been lying in bed together. “We’ll just get to celebrate double next year,” he added with a grin, kissing your forehead.

“Sounds like a plan,” you had laughed in response, snuggling against his chest.

But this went beyond keeping it simple. You hadn’t even remembered. Bradley had been sweet enough to still find a way to make you feel special, and you hadn’t even woken up to give him a kiss goodbye this morning.

Hurrying back to your bedroom, you snatched up your phone and immediately opened your messages with Bradley.

Happy Valentine’s Day, baby! I love you! ♥️

A few minutes later, you heard your phone buzz and glanced down to see your fiancé’s response.

See you tonight, honey 😘

Bradley didn’t even necessarily know you had forgotten, but you still felt horribly guilty all the same. That afternoon, in between making phone calls, you raced out to the store and picked up some of his favorites candies and treats. You also placed a take-out order for dinner from his favorite restaurant, knowing you wouldn’t have time to cook for him this year.

You loved him more than anything, and you wanted him to know that. As special as he always made you feel, you wanted him to be confident in the knowledge that he was just as special and precious to you.

Thankfully, you managed to arrive back to your apartment with dinner before Bradley returned from work. Having already set out the candy you’d bought for him on the kitchen table, you popped the food into the oven to keep it warm for when he was ready to eat.

Plopping back down on the couch, you only had a few minutes to review your venue contract before you heard the front door to your apartment opening, Bradley using the key you’d given him before the two of you had even gotten engaged.

“Honey?” he called out, his deep voice causing goosebumps to rise on your arms immediately. You could definitely get used to hearing that greeting every night for the rest of your life.

Dropping the contract and jumping up off the couch, you hurried to the entryway to greet him, flinging your arms around him and kissing him deeply. You could feel his mustache tickling your upper lip, which made you giggle against his mouth.

“Well hello,” Bradley grinned when you finally pulled back, his arms settling snugly around your waist. “That was quite a greeting after a long day of flight maneuvers,” he chuckled, nuzzling his nose against yours as he leaned in closer.

“I missed you,” you told him, cupping his face in your hands and brushing another kiss, softer this time, against his lips.

Bradley smiled into the kiss, squeezing your hip affectionately. “Mmm, I missed you, too. You looked so tired that I didn’t want to disturb you this morning, but I missed getting to give you a proper goodbye before I left,” he admitted, peppering your jawline with gentle pecks.

His words were full of tenderness, but you felt a stab of guilt once more. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, burying your face in his neck as you wrapped your arms around him more tightly and hugged him close.

Surprised, Bradley chuckled lightly and dropped a kiss on the top of your head. “You don’t have to be sorry, baby. I know you were up late.” His large fingers brushed up and down your spine comfortingly. “Hope you treated yourself to a nice, big cup of coffee this morning.”

You nodded, your face still pressed in the crook between his neck and his shoulder. “I did. Thank you for the rose and the note. It made my day,” you said softly, your lips ghosting across his shoulder.

“Of course,” he murmured, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair. “I know we said we weren’t going to do anything too big, but I still wanted to do something for you for Valentine’s Day. I’m sorry it wasn’t much,” he apologized.

“Don’t say sorry,” you insisted, pulling back and looking up into his dark brown eyes. “It was perfect.”

“So are you,” Bradley grinned, kissing you gently.

Trying to push away the minor guilt that was still gnawing uncomfortably at you, you took his hand and led him into the kitchen. “I picked up dinner for you, if you’re hungry now,” you told him, thinking of the chicken pot pie that was resting in the oven. Bradley always said that it was the only pot pie he’d ever tasted at a restaurant that reminded him of his mom’s. “Chicken pot pie from Duncan’s.”

“Oh, wow, really? Thank you, honey!” he said excitedly, squeezing your hand as he stepped into the kitchen with you. “Damn, and all this, too?” he added, his eyes widening as they took in all the candy and snacks you’d laid out on the table. “You’re spoiling me tonight, baby. You definitely beat me at the Valentine’s Day game this year.”

You weren’t expecting it, but Bradley’s words suddenly had you bursting into tears, covering your face with your hands as you stood over by the oven.

Dropping the pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups that he’d been holding, Bradley was by your side in an instant, wrapping you up in his arms and tucking your head underneath his chin. “Hey, hey, shh,” he murmured soothingly, rocking back and forth lightly. “What’s the matter, baby? What’s wrong?”

“I’m the worst fiancée ever!” you sobbed, hiccupping into his chest. “I don’t want you to think I’m so good! I totally forgot it was Valentine’s Day,” you confessed, sniffling loudly. “I only remembered when I saw your note this morning. So trust me, I most definitely did not beat you at the Valentine’s Day game.”

Bradley’s eyes widened as he listened to you ramble, one large hand moving up and down your back with firm strokes. Then, without warning, he started to laugh.

“It’s not funny!” you exclaimed, your face mottled with tears as you pulled back to glare up at him. “You do everything for me, and you’ve been so amazing, especially with all my wedding craziness, and I can’t even remember to buy you a piece of candy on Valentine’s Day? Some wife I’m going to make!” you cried irrationally.

Bradley sobered immediately at your outburst, holding your face in his hands and forcing you to look up at him. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said, waiting until you made direct eye contact with him. “I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have laughed. I know you’ve been under so much pressure lately,” he went on, brushing your tears away with his thumbs. “Between the wedding and the new apartment and everything else that you have going on, who cares that you forgot Valentine’s Day? I certainly don’t!”

“But I do,” you sniffled, reaching up to wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “I love you. I love you so much. And I want you to know that,” you explained, your voice trembling with further unshed tears.

“I do know that,” Bradley replied gently, caressing your cheek with a gentle hand. “It would be kind of crazy of me to doubt it considering we’re getting married next week,” he added with a soft chuckle. “Baby, you forgot one Valentine’s Day. Considering everything else you’ve been juggling—and juggling perfectly, I might add—it’s pretty amazing what you’re able to do on a daily basis. It doesn’t bother me at all that this slipped your mind.”

Crumpling, you buried your face in his chest and started to cry all over again.

“I think I know what this is really about,” Bradley murmured, resting his cheek against the top of your head and holding you close. “You’ve been way too stressed out about the wedding lately. And that’s my fault. I’ve been too preoccupied with work, and letting you deal with too much on your own.”

“No, that’s not true. You’ve been—”

Bradley silenced your interruption with a kiss, stroking your hair tenderly. “Our wedding is supposed to be a happy day, baby. The happiest day of our lives. I know it’s going to be for me because it’s the day I get to call you mine forever. And I want it to be for you, too. I want you to get to enjoy all the hard work you’ve been putting into making this such a special day for everyone. It should be a special day for you above everyone else.”

“It will be,” you promised, offering him a watery smile. “Because I can’t wait to marry you.”

He smiled, dropping another soft kiss on your lips. “No more stress, honey. No more worrying. No more planning. No more checklists. No more trying to do everything by yourself. I’m here for you. And I want to help you. It is our wedding, after all,” he told you with a teasing grin.

You let out a breathy laugh, nodding your head slowly. “You’re right,” you agreed softly.

“And no more beating yourself up about forgetting Valentine’s Day either,” Bradley insisted, resting his hands on your shoulders and shooting you a pointed look. “We’re going to have so many Valentine’s Days together, baby. If we remembered every single one, we’d run out of things to do. Trust me, I’m more than satisfied knowing that you’re my forever Valentine,” he smiled, curling his finger under your chin and lifting your face so that your eyes met.

“How do you always know the right thing to say?” you pouted playfully, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Bradley threw back his head and laughed at that, beaming. “You know, my mom used to say that she would ask my dad that same exact question. Usually, it was when he was managing to get out of trouble. Guess it’s just a Bradshaw quality.”

“Oh, well, thank goodness I’m marrying into such a good family then,” you giggled, leaning up to kiss him sweetly.

“You’re going to be the perfect addition to the Bradshaw clan,” Bradley smiled, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You sighed softly, contentedly, as you snuggled up against his chest, resting your head on his shoulder. “I love you so much,” you whispered.

“I love you right back. More than words could ever say,” Bradley responded, turning his head so that his lips could brush against your forehead.

The two of you stood like that for a while, perfectly content to remain wrapped in each other’s arms as the tension of a long day seeped out of your bones. There was no place that felt safer than one another’s embrace.

You finally pulled back, giggling, when you heard Bradley’s stomach rumble.

“Sorry,” he grinned sheepishly, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Guess I’m hungrier than I realized.”

“Let me get dinner on the table for you,” you told him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t you go freshen up?”

He nodded, dropping a quick succession of kisses on your mouth before stepping out of the kitchen.

Smiling, you cleared the kitchen table of all the candy you’d purchased, setting out plates and utensils before moving over to the oven to take out the food you’d ordered. Before you could place the food on the table, however, you suddenly heard music begin blaring from the speakers in the living room. You recognized those familiar strains.

You're just too good to be true

Can't take my eyes off of you

You'd be like Heaven to touch

I wanna hold you so much

At that moment, Bradley reappeared in the entryway to the kitchen, grinning from ear to ear.

“What’s this? A little mood music for dinner?” you laughed, resting a hand on your hip.

Stepping towards you, Bradley held out his hand with an infectious smile. “Dance with me,” he said, waiting patiently.

You didn’t hesitate as you slipped your hand into his, letting him pull you close to his chest as he spun you around the kitchen to the musical stylings of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons.

“I love you, baby,” he sang against your ear, his voice melding with the music so perfectly that you were tempted to tease him about becoming the Fifth Season. But instead, you closed your eyes and let his soothing voice drift over you, washing away all the stress and anxiety that had been building up inside you these past few weeks.

You couldn’t wait to marry this man, this man who danced with you in the kitchen even when you had forgotten Valentine’s Day, and who spent every moment of every day reminding you how loved and cherished you were.

The day you became Mrs. Bradshaw would be the happiest day of your life. And it would have nothing to do with the floral arrangements or the wedding venue or the flavor of the cake. Instead, it would have everything to do with the man who was waiting for you at the end of the aisle. The man who wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off you, the same way you wouldn’t be able to take your eyes off him.

“I love you, Bradley Bradshaw,” you told him, beaming up at him as the song slowly started to come to an end.

“I love you, too, honey,” he smiled, kissing you deeply. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

[eavanyhuang]

Motherly Fragments

It is hard to figure out how you feel and what you need when you are constantly mothering something. I sometimes suspect that mothering itself is an inhumane framing of reproductive world-making. What is motherhood? Devotion? Sacrifice? Projection of hope? An unpaid 24/7 side job? Self-harm in the name of care? Consumption of one’s body for another? Transmission of cultural systems? Why mother when you don’t have the “capacity”, when you “struggle” as well, when it feels like too much, and when you are told that mothering anything unconventional is unwise? A happy mom, a complaining mom, a fatigued mom, a tiger mom, a caring mom, etc…… I fail to see a form of motherhood that nurtures the mom. And the world as we know it is too readily dismissive and resentful of motherly labor. When you try to mother something, the object is almost always chillingly cold to you because it is never a reciprocal relationship. When you are mothered, you always feel pressured to pay back the mounting debt you owe to whoever is mothering you, and it is perhaps easier to flee and ghost. But perhaps mothering is not supposed to be transactional or bi-directional. Perhaps thinking in circles instead of linearity would help. Again a quote from Braiding Sweetgrass:

“So it is my grandchildren who will swim in this pond, and others whom the years will bring. The circle of care grows larger and care-giving for my little pond spills over to caregiving for other waters. The outlet from my pond runs downhill to my good neighbor’s pond. What I do here matters. Everybody lives downstream. My pond drains to the brook, to the creek, to a great and needful lake. The water net connects us all. I have shed tears into that flow when I thought that motherhood would end. But the pond has shown me that being a good mother doesn’t end with creating a home where just my children can flourish. A good mother grows into a richly eutrophic old woman, knowing that her work doesn’t end until she creates a home where all of life’s beings can flourish. There are grandchildren to nurture, and frog children, nestlings, goslings, seedlings, and spores, and I still want to be a good mother.”

The modern-colonial construction of the science and history of motherhood is one of naturalized pain. The scientific Subject looks at motherly pain as tragic abjection. Evolutionally speaking, it seems like relative reproductive success conditions parenthood to either self-deception or unwellness. Earlier this quarter I showed my Bio Anthro students clips of the video “Animals that Got the Middle Finger from Evolution” from Casual Geographic. This, I think, gives us a clear idea of what an evolution-based biological science means to rethink and decolonize modern parenthood. If harms are natural, there is nothing to be done. Just to give us two examples from the video: Kiwi eggs that oversize the mother’s body (left below) and hyena that are designed to experience excruciating pain for giving birth (right below).

I am not a mom to any human being, and I do not plan to be. But mothering is something that I will commit to, and sometimes it is overwhelming. Part of me has been wondering if this evolutionary-scientific naturalization (and justification) of motherly pain spills over to the science of social reproduction (sociology, political science, history, anthropology, etc.). This reminds me of the painful chapter, “Midwife”, in Gail Hershatter’s The Gender of Memory: Rural Women and China’s Collective Past. In there the author presents numerous oral accounts of midwifery testimonials, sometimes disturbingly without trigger warning and proper political sensitivity for the representation of subaltern pain. Back in 2018 when I first read the book, there was a deep sense of discomfort with her text, which I suppressed and silenced in my own head as “just a weird jealousy about a prominent white female scholar documenting the humiliating sufferings of Chinese rural women, whom I share a deep intimacy and kinship with, while having her self-respect and dignity intact”. I revisited the chapters when I taught it for my 2023 summer course on memory and the Mao era. I included it in my syllabus as this is one of the most celebrated texts on gender and Chinese subalternity in academia. Perhaps because most students in that course were high schoolers or early undergrads, who are not immersed in the PRC history literature, their political intuition about these texts shock me as way more explanatory and generative that most expert talks. The students were very sensitive about positionality and raised important questions about the ethics of doing oral history in a context that’s not your own. This allows me to reflect on my previous unsettledness in reading this text and the deeply modern-colonial narrativity involved in well-meaning (white and/or Han elite) feminist scholarly practices. All of these are tied back to da Silva’s transparency thesis, the Subject position that the historian assumes in telling the stories of the Other.

Note that to critique the narrative as modern-colonial is not to throw it out of the window or situate myself outside of it, but to read it with a specific vision of undoing epistemic violences and adopting restorative emplotment. My eyes were caught by the following fragments, the first one in the main text, the second in the endnotes. It is such a bizarre absence as these testimonies were simply presented without any mentioning of indigeneity and coloniality in the politics of Chineseness and/or Han-ness. And I wonder if the individual-based approach to oral history severely compromised the centrality of magical maternal relationality in all these women’s stories of care and community in midwifery practices.

“Anxiu told us, even women undergoing terribly difficult labor would insist that she deliver their child at home. They said, ‘To be in hospital is not like here, where people take care of us very well.” If she is uncomfortable somewhere, we will massage her. If it is hot like today, we will fan her. We will chat with her. We will wipe her brow. In the hospital, you are just put in bed and left alone, because they do things according to plan. They only show up when you are ready to deliver the baby. So people say, ‘It is not as good as having a child at home. And it costs so much money.” (168)

“A recurring theme in the stories of several midwives involves assisting at hospital births when the trained personnel there did not know what to do……Ma Li (interview 1999) told a similar story…….’I was sick that year and I was in hospital. There was a difficult labor in the hospital. There were a young man and a woman. They couldn’t tell what was going on and just pressed on the woman. It seemed soft. I said, ‘The bottom of the baby is coming out first. It is hard. The soft thing you touched is the anus.’ The doctor scolded me, ‘What do you know about this!’ That baby was like that when it came out. They said, ‘How did you know it is like this?” I smiled and said, ‘I learned it. See how puzzled you were! You pressed here and there.” (354)

Motherhood as pain and unrequited love is something we all experience, under modernity-coloniality, when we engage in any kind of care work. The resentment and burnout common in organizing spaces need not be reiterated, but I do think it is important to radically rethink movement affects and community building through the lens of colonized motherhood and care. While my body is drained and singled out by this care and gathering work that is “much needed”, “inspiring”, “nurturing”, and/or “appreciated”, I sit in this utter aloneness, sadness, and low self-esteem like an empty nested mom. Unwellness is the systematic side effect of motherhood and care, and as I give permission to my body in, following Toni Morrison, “deliberately going mad in order not to lose my mind” (p.18 in How to Go Mad Without Losing Your Mind), I want to make new mistakes instead of repeating old ones. Old mistakes include feeling unappreciated, being overcome by self-importance, using one child as an excuse for ignoring others, turning my care away from other mothers, preoccupying myself with others’ lack of accountability and mistakes, seeking to fix others, obsessive and excessive check-ins with my “children” who can use some alone time, over-investment in unreceptive objects out of fear, guilt, and shame, devaluing others’ carework done for me, withdrawal from my own caregivers, performing deep emotions amidst collective apathy, depriving rest and regulation from myself due to unconscious need to fulfill violent notions of motherhood and deservingness, and more.

I want to end this entry by remembering my maternal grandma, Liqin, with whom I had a very rough relationship when I was young. I always thought of her as a female model that I would like to distant myself from. Too motherly, too quiet, too content, too uncritical, too passive, and too much of an image of femininity our Teochewese culture and everyone around me wanted to mold me into. When I was about 8 or 9, I gave her a really hard time when she came over to stay with us in the city. She liked to follow me everywhere in my parents’ house to stay close to me. It somehow annoyed me so much that I had to passive-aggressively run away wherever she was. She later told my mom, who turned to me with tears asking why I would display such cruelty to my own grandma. I had no answer, albeit filled with shame mixed with self-disappointment. I tried to make my mom happy by not distancing myself from grandma, but I still could not bring myself to embrace her grandmotherly image, perhaps out of the impulse to protect myself from the conscription of it. As a result, I cannot say I have ever had a profound conversation or interaction with her despite seeing her frequently for the first 20 years of my life. She left us forever before I even learned about her name, as she was always just “grandma” to us. I took the photo above in 2014, when I saw her for the last time, in our village, Koi1-tao5, that I visited weekly growing up. She passed away soon after this. It is hard to say if cancer took her from us, or the polluted river processing tons of electronic waste from the West did, or over 60 years of thankless motherhood was the killer. The village is perhaps not “ours” anymore, as the river weeps in chemical pollutions, the mountain maimed by industrial excavation, ancestors aged by generational cycles, and families displaced by urbanization and governmental land-grabbing. Maybe it is too late to want to hold her hands, apologize, and sit with her. But such is my maternal ancestor who continuously teaches me what mothering means in unimaginable ways.

[mcbitchtits]

so anyway

guess who's got more indiana jones thoughts

(i'm not cutting for spoilers anymore so this is your last warning)

had a better audio experience this viewing, idk what's up with indie theaters having worse audio or projectors but i guess i have to give the big chains some points for not sucking. there were several lines i only finally caught for the first time this time around. (teddy's line to himself when he jumps the plane to steal it [something like "come on, Big Talker"], klaber yelling out of the plane offscreen during the divebombing [something like "die you savages!" and then "swinehuntzen!" which idek if that's supposed to be grammatical or whatever.])

I know I mentioned Helena's Theme sounds very Casablanca-y ("As Time Goes By"), which I'm sure is on purpose given it's her base of black market operations and situation with Rahim, but on the rewatch her scene with Indy right at the emotional climax I also feel like is kind of a riff off the final scene between Ilsa and Rick. Maybe I'm looking at it too hard; maybe I'm not. Hard to tell if it's on purpose or just because Indiana Jones as a concept is so packed to the gills with parts of old movies. Either way it feels very much at home, and a nice little resonance if it's intended.

Strange side note but a thing noted nonetheless; credits list has Indy as "Indiana Jones" and then most of the rest of the leads just get one name ("Marion", "Sallah", "Hauke", etc.). Just an interesting counterpoint to the credits of Raiders.

Also, there's a credit for "Drunk Flight Stewardess"?????????? Must have been a cut scene, or I definitely missed something.

(I just went to find a screencap of that and HOW is the pirated rip still a fucking CAM rip. IT'S BEEN TWO MONTHS)

Anyway. Plotwise, more pedantic critiques, why include the moon thing at all when Athena is not a moon goddess but ALSO BECAUSE YOU DON'T NEED A MOON SIGN WHY IS THERE A MOON SIGN WHEN THE INTENDED PORTAL IS JUST CLOSED OFF FROM A CAVE COLLAPSE OR WHATNOT. I THINK THERE WAS A BETTER SOLUTION TO BE WRITTEN HERE. All of the mythology writing around Archimedes' tomb is so sloppy to me, it's really the weakest thing for me. didntyouevergotosundayschool.gif except about reading greek myths or anthropology or whatever I GUESS

if an elementary school mythology/history/archaeology picture book would be doing more accurate things than your ARCHAEOLOGY THEMED plot, i'm sorry but that is a No. try again. failed step one.

unrelated. wished they had taken a hot second to make a rubbing of the wax tablet before they melted it; i realize that is not the point nor would it do anything for the plot but NEVERTHELESS!

Mads still needed more screentime. I will say it a hundred times. thanks for coming to my TED talk.

okay that's all for now to add to the list byeeeeeeeeeee

[xcrystalzero]

finals never end

summary: as finals approach, i would like to imagine that there is something more to college than studying alone in a box for 14 hours a day. so, here's a modern au of the genshin boys as college students.

Characters included: Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Xiao, Zhongli

Diluc:

- Who are we kidding, this bitch is a legacy at some pricy Ivy League. Hates when people bring it up though since he just wants to be his own person and not rely on his family name to get through things.

- Majors in business because of course he does. Rushed a business frat because it seemed like a good idea. Didn't get a bid and has since boycotted greek life.

- Eventually people find out who his father is and he starts to get bombarded by people who just basically want to use him for networking. Gets approached by girls (and sometime guys) after class like literally every day, asking if he wants to study with them sometime or just "hang out" both because he's hot and because he's rich. He never gives them the time of day but that never stops them.

- Goes to the same school as Kaeya but ignores him every time he tries to talk to him or just come back into his life. Kaeya usually takes it in stride but every else is super confused about how the two of them actually know each other.

- Walks you home from class when it starts to get darker earlier, apparently only because he doesn't have anything better to do. A gentleman through and through.

"Don't you have a meeting right now?"

"You staying safe is more important right now. They'll understand."

Kaeya:

- You know that one guy who is always out partying and who you never see studying but somehow makes the Dean's List every single semester without fail? Yeah, that's Kaeya.

- He's probably like an engineering or hard science major too and all his friends are absolutely pissed when he fucks up the curve every single time.

"You got a 98 on the orgo final???" "What, like it's hard?"

- Not as much of a hoe as everyone thinks he is. He definitely has his fun but he's not that guy who has slept his way through his entire major.

- Surprisingly enough, he's not actually in a frat, he just always knows where all the parties are. He's that guy with a snap score in the millions because everyone and their cousin hits him up every Friday night to ask where the parties are at.

-Generally seen as a really easy person to talk too. Also really good at seeming open with people without actually ever opening up and sharing anything about himself.

- With his very few close friends however, he has some strange hobbies that he's always happy to have someone to share with.

-Will take you on a picnic date about a mile off campus where you guys each way too much cheese and crackers, drink about a bottle of wine each, and watch the stars come out as the sun sets. Give the boy some love. That's all he really wants.

Venti:

-Your local friendly performing arts major who you never find without a huge iced coffee and cuffed jeans.

- He's super involved in a bunch of student organizations from improv to a few music clubs and the like. He's that person that everyone in his major knows and comes to for recommendations about new things that they should try out.

- He's in a band! They play indie songs at rotating bars every Tuesday and Thursday night and go to conferences once a semester for aspiring artists. Also sometimes will randomly perform on the Quad and serenade the random people passing by just trying to get to class.

-Offers to play at an event a club you're in is hosting as long as there's free snacks.

- Kind of an alcoholic? Not a partier in the traditional sense, but at least twice a week, he'll host a hangout where he and anyone who decides to show up get wine drunk and watch a shit ton of Gilmore Girls. BYOB of course because there's no way he could afford it on his own. Has shown up to class still drunk before but he's cute so everyone forgives him.

- Impromptu photo shoots all the time with him. Whether its a cute random flower patch, the soft neon signs outside of a boba shop, or graffiti painted onto a building wall, everything is an insta opportunity.

Xiao:

- That mysterious kid sitting in the back of your lecture wearing all black who is both undeniably hot and also exceedingly intimidating.

- Either an animal sciences major because animals are just better than humans, or he's like like history/english and spends a lot of time reading.

- He's that guy who stops communicating after the first day of your group project and you're really worried that they're just not going to finish their work but they end up sending it to you perfectly complete like a week early. Also, will talk/text you one-on-one but dislikes group meetings and group chats.

- He's in a band too! They actually play with Venti and his friends a lot and even though he admires him a lot, he's never gotten around to actually talking to Venti.

- Doesn't let people come over because then his frighteningly large collection of Funko-Pops and anime merch will be revealed.

- Also a dancer! He's not on a team or anything since he had some bad experiences with teams when he was younger, but he heads down to the studio at least 2 times a week just to move and let out some stress. If he offers to teach you sometime, that means he really really likes you.

- Asked if you wanted to go see the Demon Slayer movie with him and then showed up in a black mask and sunglasses because he didn't want anyone to recognize him.

Childe:

- Idk why but he kind of gives off athlete vibes??? Maybe like a basketball player or something?

- A bit of a campus celebrity just in that basically everyone, even if they aren't in the same major or aren't into sports, or just basically have no connection to him, still somehow know about him.

- He's a PR major and that charm is no joke. Some people kind of despise him because of the way he is literally able to effortlessly win over all of the recruiters and just random people he meets. He's extremely well-loved and he knows it.

- He's in a frat but outside of like mandatory events, doesn't spend all that much time with them. When he does party though, he goes hard.

- Doesn't actively flirt with anyone but he's just so charming and amiable that sometimes it comes across that way. Girls are always like "he's so respectful and nice I'm in love with him." He never feels the same way.

- Extremely competitive. Like the most competitive person you have literally ever met. He has to win everything and if he doesn't, he'll just keep trying and trying until he does. Literally the worst person to play beer pong with because he's not letting you go until he wins.

- Asks you to come to his games even though you barely even know the rules. If he does see you in the crowd, he gets way too hyped but plays the best he has all season. Make sure you take the credit for it.

Zhongli:

- That guy in your required philosophy class who argues with the professor. Not in an annoying "I'm smart and want an excuse to mansplain" kind of way though. He's actually just absurdly well-read and wants to discuss things instead of just listening to someone talk.

- People get annoyed with him because he's kind of disrupting class but if you actually listen to what he's saying, his ideas make a lot of sense and are kind of a mind-fuck at times.

- Has an extensive collection of plants at home and somehow manages to keep all of them alive and thriving. Also collects antique tea sets and goes to great lengths to make sure that they are taken care of.

- Probably actually a philosophy or anthropology major. Always has a new book recommendation and he's a darling who actually reads from every genre.

- Spends his free time going to museums in the area or visiting historical landmarks that are close enough to the university. Loves walking everywhere so that he can just take time to enjoy scenery and the like.

- You mention that there's a new exhibit at the local art gallery and he says that he's actually going there that evening if you would like to join him. And I mean, why would you refuse?

A.N. I'm gonna go back to studying now! Hope you enjoyed!

[generallybrontidefeelings]

Stressed

Rating: NC-17

A/N: Brought to you by this post. I'm tired and sleepy and don't want to make any decisions. The degree is an actual MS you can get from American University in DC. U of Tennessee’s anthropology dept. hosts what’s called a body farm. It's a lab for forensic pathology students. Do NOT I repeat DO NOT look up pictures.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader, Marcus Pike x you

Summary: Marcus Pike is an associate faculty member at your forensics college. You ask him to be your second reader for your thesis, even though you have a huge crush on him. Nothing is better than something, right? By the time you pass your exam, you're so pent up you could scream.

Warnings: cadaver talk, pining, age difference, some power dynamics?, annoying college talk, sex, dirty talk, a God awful metaphor curtesy of Blanche Devereaux, 39

“Take a deep breath.”

You huff in a small shallow breath. Then let it out, and take in a longer, fuller one.

“Now let it out.” You let your cheeks puff up as cool air streams past your lips. “You’ve made huge improvements, and you’ve studied hard. The paper exam will be easy, and the oral will be a cinch.”

You gulp. “I know. It’s just...pre-show jitters, you know?”

He gives you a full smile, and flips the document shut. You hand him the binder clip, accidentally brushing his fingers when you do.

"Anything else I can do for you?"

You swallow, fiddling with your paper edge. God you feel like a twelve year old. You're fucking twenty-seven and about to apply for the FBI, why are you such a sap? He’s not available. Not even remotely. He will be gone in a year, back to the Bureau. There is no reason to nurse a crush. And you curse yourself for asking a man you’re attracted to - you, idiot, idiot! - to spend more time with you. Even if it is reading your dull chapter.

"No, I have everything I need, thanks."

"Then scoot. I have to read like...thirty pages of Tanner's chapter before he gets here."

You pull your bag to your shoulder. "you're not going to get that far," you scoff. The tensing in your shoulders relaxes a little when you stand to leave.

"We'll see," he says. He opens the door of his office for you. You glance back once more, and he's still in the doorway watching you go. "See you tomorrow."

"See you." Your mind swirls back and forth between thoughts of Mr. Pike, your thesis, Pike, your oral defence, your paper exam in two days, Marcus crossing his ankles in his reading chair. And you walk. Straight ahead, not looking back. But when you get to the door handle you turn around. And he's still there. Watching.

You've never been so stressed in your life.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

You met Marcus Pike on a muggy afternoon in August deep in the heart of Tennessee. The air warped off the pavement as you drove together to the School of Anthropology to visit your cadaver lying relaxed and prostrate in the middle of a fenced field. The air is already warm, then lightning flashes in the clouds to your right, and plopping rain drops scatter across the lawn, and dampens A-0017’s second hand suit. His raisinette hands lie against the grass almost like he’s communing with the earth. You watched the water hit his face, and permanently closed eyelids, and shaved head.

You had no business being so fidgety while kneeling next to a cadaver. Agent Marcus Pike and the facility director chat a couple feet away, leaving you to your business with A-0017. Pike had never been to the school’s mysterious forensics lab, even though he had plenty of time to when he was earning his own masters. That’s what he said in his email to you three weeks earlier. He’d heard a first-year student was running a fibrous material experiment and asked to tag along. And you said yes. Why not? He was faculty. It wasn’t unheard of. His email was so polite too, letting you know if you weren’t comfortable he understood. Pike. The name rattled a memory somewhere. So you emailed him back, and the next morning he sent you his itinerary: he would meet you in Tennessee. He’d even pay for the rental car.

You sent your advisor a quick text to ask if he was ‘crazy.’ She’d sent back the laughing emoji. No, she said, Marcus Pike isn’t a crazy. You’ll like him.

You did like him. He was waiting for you at the Hertz desk, and heat licked up your skin when you realized - he was striking. He was the type of man you’d make eyes at in a bar without any hope of even getting a number. His brown hair was neatly trimmed, and he had a softness brought on by a light scruff that didn’t hide his dimples. You barely registered that he was apologizing for not getting to introduce himself before flying out, but promised he was who he said he was. Even pulled out his credentials.

“Bureau?” you said to his badge. “I thought you were an associate professor?” You want to smack yourself.

Oh, “I am,” he replied. He dug in his wallet and pulled out a campus ID that matched yours. “I’m taking an interim year. I thought teaching would be a nice way to ease into DC life.”

Now he was here, sweating under the storm clouds while watching you unbutton A-0017’s shirt, and half listening to the director tell him all about how they kept the lawn looking green despite, ahem, fluids. You sternly told A-0017 to be on their best behavior while you pulled their shirt back to examine some fiber swatches stapled to his rubbery chest.

On the flight back Pike asked you all about your thesis plans. You stuttered as you began. He waited, patient. You were writing on how the FBI could contribute to cultural repatriation efforts internationally by returning art pieces. Do you know what it could do to boost scholarly opportunities? The doors it could open! Why put it in cold storage when it could revitalize movements? Art breathes, after all. You were exhausted by the time the plane landed. Both from answering questions, and from keeping a steadily building tension under wraps. You hoped he didn’t notice how you crossed your legs.

“I’d love to read it.” He handed your backpack down from the overhead bin.

“Maybe you should be my second reader.” You got serious when his face perked up. “I still need one.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

That was nine months ago.

Your exams are in a week, and instead of thinking about preparing, all you can think of is that once everything is turned in, you probably won’t see Marcus again. He’s been your anchor these last months, and you’ve gotten used to his solid presence and encouraging platitudes. You cup your hot cheeks because it’s a dirty thought.

He lets you work in his office for a couple hours a week every week. The crammed little space is tight quarters, but he makes room for your laptop anyway. Sometimes you worked together heads bent for full time. Sometimes he read pages from your thesis, and you help him grade some papers from his first-year art history course. And sometimes you drink three pm coffee together and don’t work at all. It’s your favorite time of the week. The glow his praise gives you is embarrassing. And he’s an easy companion - nope, colleague. Your heart beats and your mouth waters every time you’re fifteen feet from his office door. The cold door knob jolts you took. You harbor a secret. Keep it warm in your belly. It swirls hungrily deep in you.

But now it’s a problem. You’re so distracted. Every time you leave his office, you’re tense from want. Your body is already over-caffeinated and achy from sitting in hard library chairs so long. But you keep going. Every time an anxious heat lights up the alarms in your head your instinct is to ask him what to do. You have to rest your hands in your head and remind yourself: he isn’t your babysitter, he’s a grown man who doesn’t have boundless time to tell you what to do. You have to figure it out yourself. Even if you really just want him to tell you what this or that section needs, is the title here misleading, is it lunch time, do you think the tone here is condescending?

What do you think? What do you want it to look like?

You think you want to grab his dumb button down collars and bite his lip. You want it to look flushed and tousled and desperate. You want to ride him in his reading chair with the door locked. It just isn’t fair.

The night before your first exam you take z-quil, drink lavender tea, and read a chapter of your favorite book to relax. Your phone buzzes at nine. It’s Marcus: good luck! You’re going to do great! Well. Better take some more Z-quill now that your heart is palpitating.

You pass both tests in excellent standing - MS in International Relations: complete. Pike attends the oral exam. Your skin goes hot when he smiles at you when the committee declares you exceed expectations. He invites you for a celebratory drink in the next couple days, which means you have two days to sternly wrangle your crush back into the dirty corner she came from.

You fail miserably.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

“Look,” he says, setting his beer down on the glass bar counter. “I know it’s not my business, but you still look stressed out. Are your grades bothering you?”

The rim of your gin and tonic is wet with condensation from where your finger circles it. “No, they’re great.”

He bumps your shoulder with his. “Then what’s the damage? You’re jumpier than a…” he trails off thinking a good metaphor. He squints at you a little.

“A virgin at a prison rodeo?” you supply. He inhales sharply, eyes wide. “You can laugh.”

“I didn’t know you watched ‘The Golden Girls,” he says. His tone is admiring. “I was going to say jumpier than a graduate student giving their defense.” You purse your lips when he raises his eyebrows at you. “Can I help at all?”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he takes another sip of his beer. The soft orange lights in the bar spill around his jaw and throat, they flicker in his irises. His face in three quarter profile is august. You’re utterly exhausted from the polite ‘student mentor’ dance you’ve had to do for months while keeping your desire at bay. And more than that, you didn’t want to answer. You wanted to show him and let him decide. The sultry washboard and piano music give you that last boost.

You make sure he’s watching you, then you slowly reach out and wrap your fingers around his wrist.

Then you wait.

Marcus pauses from lifting his beer bottle, eyes glued to your hand on his wrist. It’s petite against him. He stares at your baby blue fingernails pairing beautifully with his Stirling watch - and he feels himself harden.

All the skin on your body stands at attention when he meets your eyes. Everything in them tells you he wants you just as bad. There’s a hesitant curve above his eyebrow though. You get it. You were his student - he’s such a sweet man he wouldn’t even dream of using a power dynamic like that to get laid. Your breath comes in short heaves.

“The semester ended thirty-six minutes ago,” you say over the music. He takes a deep breath. You aren’t his student anymore. Not according to the school, anyway.

You want him to decide. If he doesn’t, you’ll go home and fall apart under your fingertips thinking about how hot it would have been to lift your dress and sit on his cock while wearing your thigh highs.

“Do you want to leave?” You nod, resisting the urge to bite your lip.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Marcus’s apartment is homey. Streetlights flood the floor of the living room through the street facing windows. You turn this way and that to inspect the dark areas that look like bookshelves while he hangs up your coat. You squeeze your hands at your sides, because this is happening. You’re in his house. The hardwood floor is cold under your stocking feet.

You jump when he puts his hands on your shoulders from behind you, holding you a mere inch from his body. You bite your lip when his nose bumps into the back of your head.

“Are you sure about this?”

“You already asked me that,” you reply, letting your head fall back on his shoulder. You want so badly to tell him to tell you what to do. That you don’t want to make any decisions. Brain is worn out. That you want to please him, and not think. Oh, to be a freshmen simply sponging up information.

“I know,” he slides his hands to your biceps and turns you around. “I can check in again, can’t I? He cups your face when you nod. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, please,” you have to stop yourself from saying something incriminating, like mister Pike, or sir, or professor.

You clutch the front of his button down to anchor yourself when his lips brush yours. His mouth is soft. It coaxes you to open so he can dive into you, his tongue swipes your bottom lip, and you respond by pressing into him. You stay pliant under him, letting him lead. Your legs feel on the verge of collapse when you break away. You can’t stand it anymore.

“I want to suck your cock.”

Both of you freeze. For a second you wonder if you’ve given him a heart attack. But you watched his thighs on the car ride back and couldn’t stop thinking about kneeling between them. Your mouth waters. Marcus can’t breathe. He’s straining against his zipper. After your declaration he wants it too.

“Okay, honey,” he breathes. He brushes your ear with his thumb. “If that’s what you want, we’ll do that.”

He tries to draw you backward toward his room where he can turn on a lamp and properly pay tribute to your body, but you pull him back. You tug him to his mid-century armchair - he has the twin to it in his office. His mouth goes dry. You have to know. He looks into your face, and from the way you’ve averted your eyes, you know.

“Please?” you say. It sounds like a sob.

From this close you can smell the vanilla and bergamot of his soap. He sits, waiting for you. When you don’t move he holds his hand out for you to take.

“Come here, honey,” he draws you close. The top of your dress swings a little and he groans when he sees the break of your dress to what he thought were tights. Marcus studies your face in the second hand street light - your mouth parted, your eyes blown wide. Your hand in his is hot. “Hey, if this is overwhelming, or not what you want-”

“It is,” you correct him.

“Tell me what’s wrong then,” he requests. You feel pained. If you don’t say it now you never will.

“Tell me what to do.” Your head aches from the stress of carrying it for so long. “I’ve had to make my own decisions for months, and I don’t want to anymore. Just - for five minutes-” you bring your hands to your cheeks and press them against your hot skin. You watch as he realizes what you want. He nods in slow motion.

“Okay,” he says. “Kneel for me.” He gets even harder when you sink to your knees. Your hands rest in your lap. Waiting. He can’t believe this is happening. Thank goodness he’s going back to the Bureau in three months. He couldn’t face the other faculty - fuck, your advisor - after this. Leaning forward he cups your chin and kisses you. You squeeze your thighs together. He kisses your ear and says lowly, “take my cock out, honey. I want you to suck me off.”

When you take him in your mouth as far as you can, you look into his face. His mouth has fallen open. His ears have turned red from flushing. It’s indescribable. It makes your mouth water further around his hard length. It’s heavy on your tongue. You move up and down his shaft leisurely, trying to savor it. Letting saliva run down onto his skin as your tongue works the spongy head. You reach up to work the base with your hand when he tells you ‘no’.

“Just your mouth.” Fuck. You moan around him as a ripple pulls from deep in your core. The vibrations of you moaning make him jolt and heave. For a few moments he apologies while you breathe deeply, then resume. You take a mouthful of him. It’s feasting. It’s mindless.

His fingers brush the side of your face, and tenderly cups the back of your head. You want to make him understand this is what you want. So you slide down as far as you can comfortably, and wait. Swallowing thickly around his length

“Fuck, honey,” he groans. He gets it, taking both hands and moving your head the pace he wants. You can tell he hasn’t been asked for this often. Maybe ever. You close your eyes and just feel. His cock filling your mouth. Aches forming around your jaw. Tears leaking out of your eyes from your concentration. Your pussy wetting through your underwear. Marcus pulling your hair. You swallow hard, then he stops. And pushes you off.

You whine in protest.

“I hear you, honey,” he says softly. His voice is hoarse. “Another time. I want you to unwind right now.” Your pussy clenches.

He takes you back to his bedroom and helps you undress. He lifts your dress over your head, and kneels to help you out of your thigh highs. One day, if you’ll let him, he’ll fuck you with them on, but he likes to see all of a woman the first time he does anything to her. He kisses the bit of skin above the waistband of your panties before standing to kiss your lips. Your help him push them down your hips until they fall to your ankles. The soft gasp he lets out at the sight of your underwear and bare body is nothing short of gluttonous.

“Lay down.”

He strips while you watch. He does it without taking his eyes off of you. There’s hunger in them. This man has an appetite, you know it. The fabric rustles pleasantly between the sound of both of you breathing. Far away, ambulance sirens blare in another neighborhood, but here in his apartment the wet sound of cars passing in the rainy street are the closest accompaniment.

“I want to touch you here,” he tells you, palming your sex and making you squeak. It’s so forward.

“Do it,” you breathe, and part your legs further for him. He leans in and kisses your temple, murmuring ‘good girl’ and you swear you could black out.

You’re already so wet when his fingers part your folds to greet the new territory. “Did sucking my cock get you wet?” He sounds amazed. He tastes one fingertip before putting it back to tease your folds. “I wonder how wet you would be just holding it in your mouth while you read.”

“Oh-” a ripple works down your spine. He smirks. The tip of his finger brushes just inside your lips to tease your entrance.

“I’m going to put my fingers in you. You,” he pauses to kiss your cheek, “relax. You earned it.” He rubs his nose up and down yours, and you nudge him back just as he slips one long finger into you. You’re glad he’s being sweet like this. It’s the perfect blend of firmness and care. You want him to dominate you one someday, maybe, but right here and now, the combination of his low voice and steady fingers is ideal. Marcus kisses your cheek and mouth as he works his finger in and out of you. It’s thick and reaches further than you ever could. You spread your legs even further to tell him, more.

Without removing his hand he moves down your body to lick your clit. He sucks and flicks it as he coaxes more wetness out of your leaking cunt. Carefully he pulls the finger out and presses his wet hand to the inside of your thigh to keep you open. He laps into you, covering the muscles with lubricant because you’re going to need it. You see his face just as he decides you’re ready; it’s contemplative, like he’s concentrating. Then he slides two fingers deep into you.

“Oh, fuck, that’s so fucking good,” your voice crescendos. You reach for his shoulder as he comes up to lie beside you. His skin is warm under your palm. You buck your hips looking for something else, seeking, wanting-

“Stay still.” You still immediately. “Just feel it, baby. I want you to be ready for me.” You know what he means. His cock is thick and smearing against your hip. He was big in your mouth, he’s going to be big while pushing into you. His fingers keep moving while he kisses the tips of your nipples. When he takes one between his teeth and tugs you break. Your mouth opens, and your legs clamp reflexively around his wrist. Your pussy gushes around his fingers - you can feel it. You can feel how his movements change from a drag as a slide. He keeps pumping. He doesn’t give up until he’s sure you’ve felt every aftershock. He’d love to take his time and work a third in one day - if he can - but tonight, he wants to move on. After you swallowed his cock in his sitting room chair he’s been thinking of rewarding you.

You feel him slip his fingers out, and roll away to the nightstand. He looks back at you, and his eyes soften a little before he asks, “do you want me to use a condom?”

“No,” you say and reach for his bicep to pull him back toward you. He comes willingly. “I have an IUD. And I’m clean.” He smiles, flinging the packet over his shoulder. It makes you giggle, but it sounds hysterical to your ears. You watch him reach down and pump his cock with the hand that was just inside you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“Look at me,” he orders. Your eyes snap open. Marcus crashes his lips on yours. The hand not dripping from your cunt cups the back of your head. “I want to see your eyes while I fuck you.”

His blunt head breaks into you, you lose all thought. He sinks further in, until you’re squirming on his length because he’s stretching you. You suck air in and will your body will stay still like he suggested for his fingers. You look into Marcus’s eyes the whole time, trying to tell him how good he feels. You can’t make the words leave your throat. He pulls your head to him, kisses your mouth until you compose yourself and lie still. Then he gets to work. The breadth of him stills you anew. For the first time in months you fully relax, hardly making a sound as he thrusts steadily. You stare into Marcus’s eyes while your mouth falls open as he slides into you, and listen to the wet sounds of your pussy and the bed frame creaking.

Then he starts talking.

“Do you know how good you look in those blue trousers? I want to grab your ass every time you wear them,” he rumbles. His pace picks up a hair, and he feels harder in you somehow. He drops to his forearm. “I love watching it when you walk out of my office.” You knew it. “And that damn cardigan you never wear a shirt under? Those buttons slip right open, don’t they?” He punctuates it with a deep thrust that makes you squeak. “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Wear it over for dinner. I’ll bite your tits through it.”

He fucks into you harder, sending shivers up your spine with every thrust. It moves you up the bed until you have to reach a hand up and press back against the headboard. You clutch him with the other, looping around his shoulder to feel the muscles in his arms pull and tug as he moves in you, working you up to another release Soon enough, the coil in your belly tightens and he reaches to worry your clit with deft fingers. His eyes never leave you. You think this man could make the hardest fuck feel like making love.

“I need more,” you tell him. You’re too embarrassed to ask for what you want. A tear leaks out of your eye because his thickness is so good, but you want something else too. You always underestimate him. He grins because he knows - he’s a detective. He figured it out. He leans down to rest his forehead on your temple.

“You’re doing so well,” he says. You arch up into him, your breasts brush his chest. “Your wet pussy is so sweet. It’s taking me so well. Are you gonna be respectful? Gonna listen?” You have to hold your breath as your hips tense. “Be good and come on my cock.” Oh fuck. “Say it.”

Your voice is wet with joy. “Yes, sir.”

“Such a good girl.”

Sparks lick up your back and through your cunt, forcing Marcus deeper into when you lift your lips. He slows to let you enjoy all your release. He kisses your neck, your jaw, your lips. Then when he hears your content sigh, he buries his face in your neck and chases his own release. He comes with an accompanying rumble from deep in his chest. You moan in return and lift your lips to catch him as he slumps, barely holding his weight off of you.

Water runs in the washroom as you tug the sheets back. The light clicks off, and Marcus appears with a washcloth. His dimple appears when you lean back and let him clean your tender flesh. He sits on the edge of the bed next to your hips, running his knuckles on the soft side of your breast.

“Stay the night,” says. “I’ll cook you breakfast.”

“Hm,” you say, mock contemplative. You run your fingers down his chest. He preens under the affection. “I will. I feel really good.” Your cheeks tingle at the admission. He smiles wide and bright.

He comes back from putting the cloth in the hamper. You roll so he can run his hands the length of your side

“Thank you,” you murmur. He lifts his face from where he’s been peppering your waist with kisses. His brow is furrowed in amused confusion. “For being good to me. For caring about what happened to me.” You’ll tell him the horror stories your friends have from their college another time.

He sighs and cups your cheek. “I like doing it. You’re bright. Supporting you is a privilege. Especially when I know that brain is going to put us all to shame one day.” You could cry.

“I’ve liked you since the body farm,” you admit. He wrinkles his nose. “I know. Not very romantic.”

“I liked you since you thought my campus ID was more official than my FBI badge.”

“I didn’t think that!”

“Get some sleep,” he says. A wicked glint comes to his eye. “I am going to wear you out before lunch.” You wiggle to get comfortable in the sheets and he curls over your back to hold you to his chest.

Orange light peeks through the gap in his blackout drapes. You eye him over your shoulder then settle into the pillow. All the tension in your shoulders is gone.

part 2

[writingonesdreams]

Story behind stories tag game

Rules: go over your favourite creative projects and reflect on how they were influenced by your real life at the time

When the worlds cross - interdimensional tournament, the heroine was figuring out she wasn't doing what she wanted in her life despite her serious admired position (I just started law school and didn't like it. Also lots of my stories have the "how to get along with differences" theme, since I study aboard in a different language and find it hard to connect with the foreign mindset of that country + plus my introverted heavy discussions loving personality)

Flickers in the dust - postcapocalyptic werewolf road trip story about an unmotivated girl, a depressed neibour and a boxing prodigy saving a little girl, looking for purpose in the ruins (law school was going really bad, I hated the exams, first time I ever failed at anything, huge fights with my parents, my personally darkest times)

The 5th Magic - magic war story about enemy generals falling in love and stopping it, lots of found family hideout cultural differences clashing (this was after leaving law school, so feeling more confident in japanology that didn't last, but the power story helped a lot to make changes. Wasn't making many friends irl, but found new friendships in the writeblr community)

Rivers of Stars - various versions of urban fantasy AU version of 5th Magic (my attempts to make the main trio work in a new story. Situation kept changing so much though, I couldn't settle on a story I would care about for more than a few months. Then the pandemic hit and I found the uni of my dreams at the same time).

Stormkeeper - art mage tries to convince a physical fighting mage of the worth of these things in various scenarios (mostly my worry what to do with my cultural anthropology school, the fear creeping in from people not even knowing what it is, not to mention why it's important).

Sky of Shards - six students get stranded on wild magical islands and try to get along after half of them abonded the mind mage at the beginning for being useless (wintersemester 2021 my career future fear reached its peak with a seminar about it, also exploring smaller slice of life stories and being useless for the society/market)

Tears of Iron - dragon knight academy with slice of life hurt/comfort plot about a successful magic researcher and dealing with lasting injury and imperfection (started in spring 2022 as a sequel to Sky of Shards, mostly just follows my new situation of finding my dream job career as professor/cultural researcher and making my first steps in achieving it as a tutor and writing mentor. The hurt/comfort part deals with the desire to meet people who would support you even in your most vulnerable flawed state).

Tagging: @thewalkingnerdx @bloodlessheirbyjacques + open tag

I trust you guys with this weird life story bearing + I'm curious if it was any similar for you? Any key life events and projects correlations?

[death-witch-speaks]

Hades Devotional Writing #4- Comfort in Pain

It has been said that people go back to the pain they know. That they are scared of changing because they've been stuck with the same issue for so long they no longer know who they are without it.

I am one of those people.

Or, rather, I used to be one of those people.

I am hard pressed to remember a time where I didn't feel like I was on the outside looking in, to remember a time where I fully understood what my peers were doing or why, to remember a time when I was wholly accepted for who I am.

One of my earliest memories is of my preschool teacher giving me a blank stare as I told her I wanted to be a forensic anthropologist, and the commingled sense of pride and shame at the fact I had to explain what that was.

I thought, at the ripe old age of five, that every adult knew what anthropology is and what anthropologists do, and I couldn't for the life of me understand why she looked so upset when I said I wanted to "play" with the bones and help put people back together once they were just "people soup and bones." Looking back, I can understand why that is an upsetting thing to hear a small child talk about, but at the time I was nothing but utterly confused.

I remember the first days of kindergarten, when I realized the kids around me weren't going to be nice when I was.

I remember being told off in first grade for completing my math sheets early, unable to understand why someone else was allowed to have harder worksheets and finish early but I wasn't.

I remember thinking I was being punished in second grade when my teachers began placing me by the "problem children," wanting me to be some sort of good influence because the only thing I wanted to do was read or color.

I remember crying myself to sleep in third grade, unable to understand why nobody ever wanted to talk about the things I did or why they only talked to me when they wanted the answer to a problem.

I remember being elated in fourth grade when my teacher let me stay in for recess everyday and eat my lunch in her room. I wanted to eat in the peace and quiet of a mostly empty classroom and read, not be jostled around at a lunch table that was too big for me until it was time to go out into the elements.

I remember being put into the gifted kids program in fifth grade and finally making solid friends. I didn't have to change the way I explained things or pretend I didn't know what the adults were talking about anymore, and I found a sort of home within the title of "gifted."

I never got compliments about what I wore or the things I said, but people would tell me all the time how smart I was, how I was destined for great things, how I would change the world one day.

It took far too little time for that to become my entire identity. The only thing I was, the only thing I could be, was smart. It didn't matter what the problem was, what subject I was learning, I had to know everything without help.

If I didn't? If I asked for help? I can still see the pitying glances and sad head shakes, like I had failed for being confused or not understanding on the first try.

So, it didn't matter anymore if I understood or not, I was smart, and being smart means you never need any help.

I understood then, what my role was. My little brother had already slid into the "golden sports child" role, so I had to be a "pleasure in class." I had to be smart and kind and make the right decisions and act like an adult, because anything else was a failure, and smart people don't fail.

I found comfort in the weight of the world I had piled onto my shoulders. I found comfort in knowing I was "a mini adult." I found comfort in keeping everything to myself, never letting anyone in, never being anything other than the perfectly happy little bookworm, so cute and quirky.

In seventh grade I broke the rules.

I thought I had a friend, a real friend! They were interesting and knew so many things and they were from the city, had lived in an actual apartment building (with an elevator and everything!) and that was a huge deal to country-mouse-me.

So I told them.

I told them about how depressed I felt because of the pressure of being 'the smart one.'

I told them how anxious I was, all the time, because I was absolutely convinced my parents were going to get a divorce and I knew it would absolutely break my mother.

I told them how much I wanted to hurt everyone, because nobody ever seemed to listen to anything I had to say.

I told them how I wanted to kill myself, because maybe that way someone would care that I was around instead of expecting something from me.

I told them how much I wished I could just be bones, just waste away into nothingness.

I told them about my body image issues. About how I wanted to rip the fat off my body and throw it away so maybe someone would pay attention to me like they did to the pretty girls. About how I wanted food to disgust me so I could be beautiful and small and petite like I was "supposed" to be.

I told them things I had sworn were never supposed to be told to anyone, more than I had ever told anyone else.

And they laughed at me. They told me how stupid I was being, that none of those things were real issues and I should try again when something actually happens.

They told me I should starve because "chubby kids don't need to eat, anyway."

They told me nobody would care if I died, because nobody cared that I was alive.

They told me to just fucking do it already or to shut up about it, because nobody wants to hear anything you have to say.

So I did. I shut up and suffered, so maybe next time I broke the rules the person would actually care.

I told myself I didn't want lunch, and the people I ate with praised me for it.

I told myself I had to slice into my skin, I had to exercise until my muscles gave out, I had to take scolding showers, so next time I mattered.

I told myself that the only way anyone would care, was if it was bad enough to notice.

My freshman year of high school, I started dance classes. I loved them- it was so fun and exciting and I got to be a "boy" during lifts because I was older than the other kids and already strong because of marching percussion.

The eating disorder got worse, because I didn't have a dancer's build and I didn't want to disappoint my dance teacher by being "too big" for the costumes.

Half way through the school year, I started worshiping Hades.

The first thing He said to me, the first thing He told me I had to do, was to take care of myself.

He told me I had to eat, because everyone deserves a good meal, no matter what they happen to weigh.

He told me I didn't have to exercise until I felt like passing out.

He told me I was allowed to seek help when I didn't understand something or when I felt my mental health getting bad.

So I did. I tried my hardest to break out of these terrible habits and replace the bad thoughts with thoughts of the love I felt from Hades.

For a long time, it worked! I had fewer and fewer fear foods, I was eating lunch again, I told myself I loved who I was enough times I really started to believe it.

And then I caught a trusted teacher shit talking me with some juniors my sophomore year.

I was in Sunshine Society and the teacher was the leader of it- she wanted everyone to download an app for what amounts to a group chat, and I didn't have enough space on my phone to download it. I asked if it would be okay if I had someone text me what I needed to know, explaining that my shitty walmart phone didn't have enough space for the app.

I explained how I didn't even have enough space to keep any pictures, and that the three apps I did have were incredibly important to me. I can still distinctly remember how she smiled at me so brightly and told me that it was alright, that she would text me what was going on personally, that it wasn't a problem at all.

Then the bell rang for lunch, and everyone ran out of the room. My friend and I stayed behind because I had to pack up my stuff and that's when we heard the teacher chatting utter shit.

I remember how she was laughing, insulting my family financial situation and telling everyone there's no way I was telling the truth, because "everyone has enough space on their phones!"

I ran out of the room crying while my friend cussed the teacher out. She got suspended for three days because of it, the teacher didn't even get a slap on the wrists.

I turned right back to my old ways, Hades or no. I didn't deserve to eat. I didn't deserve to have friends or hang out with them. I didn't deserve to enjoy the things I used to love.

Until my senior year of high school, I was right back there, hating everything about myself and wishing I was someone else. I was crying myself to sleep, wishing I would understand why I wasn't built like the pretty girls. Why I didn't have a flat chest. Why couldn't I have just been a boy?

Even with Persephone in the picture, I couldn't find the will to leave the painful bubble I had made for myself. Why should I? Why shouldn't I suffer in silence, like that person had told me to so many years ago?

And then covid hit, ruining my senior year for good, and suddenly I didn't care about what anyone else thought of me, because I didn't have to see anyone else!

The world was going to hell, so what did it matter if I ate three times a day? What did it matter if I went back to the things that gave me joy? When had I forgotten the first thing Hades ever asked of me- to simply take care of myself?

For most people, those first few months of covid were terrifying. They were uncertain and scary and nobody knew anything, but for me, they were healing.

I was alone, so I could focus on me for the first time in far too long. I could figure out what actually mattered and better understand what my path in life was supposed to be.

Hades had been ever so patient up until this point, but He kicked it into overdrive once I was able to be home and in a space dedicated to Him almost all the time.

He gave me so much shadow work to do I might as well have lived for doing it alone, pushing me to get to where I needed to be. He had waited long enough, it was time for action.

And I couldn't be happier that He did, because it helped me realize just how hard it is to break yourself out of bad habits when you don't tell anyone what's going on with you.

-Jae

Hades/Persephone Discord || Asks

[shingekinohyrulewrites]

Coffee & Comfort

While studying for midterms at an obscure coffee shop on campus, your (very handsome) professor comes in to do some grading. The two of you share a table since he needs an outlet to charge his laptop, which leads to the start of a forbidden relationship.

Read on AO3 here

Read previous chapter here

While you normally looked forward to Professor Todoroki’s class, you were extremely nervous today. His class wasn’t until noon, but you spent the entire morning fidgeting in your seat, finding it hard to focus as you tried (and failed) to take notes during lecture. When your Anthropology class ended, you took your time gathering your things before slowly walking over to the smaller, adjacent lecture hall.

Professor Todoroki had already started class, voice booming across the hall as he gestured to the slides behind him. His eyes immediately flickered over to you as you walked in. Instead of taking your normal seat near the front, you sat at a seat near the exit. You tried hard to ignore the fact that he was frowning before he returned his gaze to the screen.

Even though the class was an hour, it felt like three. You took careful notes, keeping your eyes only on the slides and your laptop screen. When he announced the end of class, you began to quickly pack up your things. The sound of your name being called had the lecture hall going silent, and you slowly lifted your eyes up.

Every single pair of eyes were on you. Professor Todoroki was looking directly at you, face slightly lowered towards you. Swallowing nervously, you gave a slow nod before slinging your bag over your shoulder. You passed your classmates as you made your way towards him, each person giving you a curious look as you walked by.

When you finally arrived at the front of the lecture hall, you stopped at the foot of the stage. Professor Todoroki slipped his laptop into his briefcase before climbing down the steps towards you.

“Why were you late to class today?”

“I stayed behind to talk to my Anthro professor,” you lied, hoping that it sounded true.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Concern was evident on his face, his brow furrowing as he studied your face for an answer.

“Excuse me?”

“Last night, did I do something wrong? Did I overstep some boundary?”

You could only blink at him, mind trying to catch up with what he was saying.

“If you wanted to stop meeting, then that’s fine with me. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, especially since I’m your professor, and I -”

“No!”

Your voice was loud in the now silent lecture hall. Your cheeks burned as you began to furiously shake your head.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I promise. I’m just . . . stressed.”

Relief flooded him, shoulders sagging as the tension left his body.

“Okay . . . I’m glad,” he confessed. “It was hard for me to focus throughout the lecture because I was worried that I had upset you.”

Your professor was thinking about you during his lecture. Your mouth went dry at the thought.

“Do you want to meet tonight, then? Would that be okay?”

“Sure, that’s fine,” you said. “This is my last class of the day.”

“Do you want to meet at, say, seven?”

You confirmed with a nod, giving him a gentle smile.

***

Espresso Express was packed.

It seemed your best kept secret was no longer that. Every single table in the cafe was filled, with the baristas working hard to keep the orders coming. One of the baristas, who you recognized from your nights here, shot you a sympathetic look from behind the counter.

“Well, there goes our plans,” Professor Todoroki frowned.

“I can’t believe it,” you sighed. “When I came here at first, it was so empty. I guess people started talking about it and brought their friends along.”

He nodded, reaching up to run a hand through his silky hair.

“Are you hungry?”

You blinked, slowly turning your head to peer up at him. He was looking back at you blankly.

“Er, I could eat. I ate a little around five.”

The two of you step out of the cafe and back into the cool night. Professor Todoroki - Shoto, you’re so used to calling him Professor - glances around you before speaking.

“My car is parked in the faculty parking lot. It’s not too far from here.”

He leads the way, keeping a respectable distance between the two of you. You notice he’s glancing around you both subconsciously, eyes flicking around. This part of campus is empty at this time, with random students walking around, heads ducked as they stare down at their phones.

Shoto’s car is parked on the fourth floor. It’s a sleek Acura SUV, its headlights shining brightly in the lowlights of the garage. He opens the passenger side for you, holding out a hand for you as you awkwardly climb in. He pulls out of the parking space smoothly, quiet music playing in the background.

“I know a great spot. It’s a bit away from campus but well worth it, I assure you.”

You nod, turning to give him a quick smile before turning away. The lights of campus begin to fade away, the familiar landscape of Tokyo quickly approaching you. You half expected Shoto to drive halfway across the city, but instead he pulled into a small strip mall less than ten minutes from campus.

He opened your door again, placing a gentle hand on your lower back. Butterflies began to flutter deep in the pit of your stomach, your cheeks quickly beginning to warm. A traditional Japanese restaurant greeted you, tucked in between a dry cleaners and an old watch repair shop.

The hostess greets you two quickly, bowing while greeting you in Japanese. You return the greeting shyly, with Shoto quickly saying he needs a table for two. She quickly leads you to a table in the back of the restaurant, sliding two menus towards you before scampering off.

“Shoto! What are you doing here?”

You turn to see a young girl, not much older than you, smiling at your Professor. Her dark hair is pulled into a ponytail, her uniform stretching painfully across her large breasts. Insecurity begins to gnaw at you, and you bite your lip as you survey the menu quietly.

“Oh. Momo. I didn’t know you were working tonight.”

“I didn’t know you were coming in tonight! You’re always here the same day every week.”

The two continue on, oblivious to you sitting there. The insecurity slowly shifts into jealousy, and for a moment you feel ridiculous. Shoto is your professor, he holds a position of power over you! But you begin to feel anger simmering at the surface, with annoyance quickly climbing along with it. Pursing your lips, you begin to flip through the menu noisily, trying your hardest to drone out their conversation.

“That’s fine, right?”

You lift your head to see them both staring at you. Blinking, you turn to look at Shoto.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, I . . . ordered us two teas. I hope that’s okay?”

“Oh, sure, sure.”

The girl called Momo gives him one last smile before retreating to the kitchen. You remain silent, pretending to be preoccupied with the menu.

“Everything here is delicious. If you need recommendations, please let me know.”

You nod, not even bothering to look up. Momo returns rather quickly, placing the cups down. She turns to Shoto again, eyes lighting up as she speaks.

“Do you want your usual? Cold soba?”

“Sure. That would be great.”

He turns to you then, and you realize he’s waiting for you to order.

“I’ll have the udon with a side of shrimp tempura, please.”

She leaves again, but not before saying goodbye playfully to Shoto. You try hard not to scowl, reaching into your pocket for your phone and scrolling through Instagram.

“Is . . . everything alright?”

He’s staring at you with the same worried expression from earlier in the day. Your jealousy subsides a little as you give him a small smile.

“Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

“I hope I’m not keeping you from your work,” he frowns. “I know you usually get a lot done when we’re together.”

Your cheeks warm at the last part of his sentence, and you clear your throat as you take a sip of tea.

“I got a lot done earlier today. I won’t fall behind, so don’t worry.”

It’s quiet for a moment before he asks about the rest of your day. As usual, you fall into an easy conversation, talking about your classwork and friends while he talks about his coursework and his peers. When Momo returns with the food, he doesn’t even bat an eye at her, which makes pride swell in your chest. You eat dinner while still talking, cracking the occasional joke and trying not to laugh too loud in the quiet restaurant.

The two of you stay there for an hour after you finish your meal. Shoto had asked you about your parents again, wanting to know how they met and how they had felt about you leaving for Japan.

“They met quite young, actually. I think they met at a block party.”

“Block party?” he furrows his brow.

“It’s an American thing. Basically, every neighbor on the street comes together to barbecue, have some drinks, and mingle. They had both just moved in recently with relatives and were immediately smitten.”

“That sounds very sweet,” he smiles.

“Yeah, they’re still very much in love. It’s endearing. It gives me hope.”

Something in his expression changes, but it happens too quickly you can’t register the emotion. He smiles, but there’s a hint of something behind it.

“And the move? Were they okay with it?”

“For the most part. They were devastated at first. They assumed that I would go to some local state university, but they also knew I had dreams of traveling. It was hard for them to accept it, but they eventually came around to it.”

“They sound very supportive.”

Glancing down at his phone, his eyes went wide.

“I’m so sorry. Let me drive you back. It’s getting really late.”

He led you back to his car, his hand once again sliding down to your lower back. The drive back to campus was shorter, and a part of you was dreading having to say goodbye. He pulled back into the same parking spot, shutting off the car but not making an effort to move.

“Can I say something?”

Surprised, you turn to give him a nod.

“I . . . I really enjoy spending time with you. I know that, as your Professor, I really shouldn’t be spending this much time with you outside of class, but . . .”

He sucks in a breath to steady himself, carding a hand through his hair.

“I find myself able to completely be myself around you. With my status, I feel like I have to put on so many masks. But with you . . . I don’t need one. I can walk around maskless.”

Your heart swells in your chest. Words fail you at that moment, and instead you stare at him dumbly.

“I’m not sure what will come from this, but . . . I hope we can make it work for a long time.”

With that, he finally turns to nervously peer at you. His cheeks are tinged red, lips twitching slightly with fear. Smiling, you lean across the center console to clasp his hand in yours.

“I feel the same way, Shoto.”

[bloodypapercut]

s.b. headcanons

hellooo, me again! enjoy angels and treat urself today <3

word count: 1.9k 

-he will do anything to pull you away from whatever it is you’re doing whenever he wants attention

“COME TO MY DORM OR I’LL LIGHT A BUNCH OF CANDLES AND FALL ASLEEP!” “no don’t burn down hogwarts sirius, sod off, i need to study.” “don’t you love me??” “yes, now that that’s settled, go away.” “you’re breaking my heart darling.” he’ll pout throwing a hand over his heart while leaning on you “you’re breaking your own heart. just wait a bit longer, you big baby.” “nope, that’s it, i’m doing it! tata now!” “sirius no-!” “bye y/nnnn goodnight, unless you decide to graciously visit me in bed” “you’re really gonna burn down hogwarts because i won’t cuddle you?” “you mean YOU'RE going to burn down hogwarts because you refuse to stop studying and cuddle me.” “it does work like that!! you’re so childish.” “i’d prefer the term determined if you will.” “sirius- wait no don’t go upst- and he’s gone,” *waits a bit* *dashes upstairs and barges into the room* *sees there are no candles lit* “i’m offended, you thought i’d actually do it, but since you’re here let’s cuddle.”

-whenever he’s hanging around the other marauders on the field he’ll see random flowers and start picking them, ignoring their teasing while flipping them off “sirius has gone soft!!!!” “sod off wankers at least i have someone.” “i do have someone!” “lily hates you james.” “for now you twat.”

-he can’t wait to give you the flowers “oh- thank you? for the um..weeds?” “weeds? they’re flowers, look, petals and all.” he’ll dramatically pick a petal of a flower and blow it into the air, sighing as it slowly falls to the ground “nooo don’t make that face, you know i love them, they’re pretty.” you’ll open your arms for him and he’ll gladly reciprocate, burying his face between your shoulder and neck ”yeah like me.” he’d mutter in a childish voice

-“did you just lick my lips?” “your chapstick tastes good”

-whenever he’s drinking something and someone makes him laugh you can expect him to spray everywhere

-if you’re putting on lipstick he’ll ask you to kiss him on the cheek because he wants people to see, then he’ll ask to use the lipstick too because he wants you to have one as well

-every time you come out of the bathroom after getting dressed, without fail he’ll hype you up whether you’re wearing your uniform or a normal outfit or your sleeping clothes. he’ll narrate you as you walk out the room, asking you to do your model walk.

-you’ll dress each other sometimes, he usually picks fishnets and a skirt with one of his shirts and you’ll get him to dress like henry winter from the secret history (sirius in dark academia fashion, i think so)

-you two paint your nails together

-you both impulsively cut your hair, it’s utter chaos. it consists of you two screaming, hiding under a blanket, freaking out at the hair in the sink, then realizing you both look really good

-you have matching silver rings and necklaces

-he’s very devious, he always has something up his sleeve

-he gets jealous really easily, if someone is looking at you he’ll stare them down and whisper in your ear “someone’s checking you out.” “really? are they cute?” he’ll shoot you a warning look before picking you up and running off to do some um activities

-he’s very protective, he trusts you deeply but he knows that there are people who are willing to do anything to upset him and the only way someone could upset him is if they harmed you in any way. he will always stand up for you, even when you’re not around. he despises anyone who even looks at you the wrong way. this has led to many fights and detentions  

-he’s the most supportive and accepting person ever. he knows what it’s like to feel like an alien in your own body, to not be accepted by those you thought would be there no matter what, he understands what it feels like and though he will never understand how you feel completely, he will do everything in his power to help you and to make you feel safe and loved. if you open up about your struggles, your sexuality, your identity or anything at all, there will not be a single part of him that’ll judge you. he’ll just listen and smile, feeling so grateful that you trusted him enough to open up to him

-he’ll randomly break into your room in the middle of the night “get your fine ass out of bed, we’re going to hogsmeade.” “it’s 4 in the morning what could you possibly want at hogsmeade?” “i’m hungry, now hurry up.” “why don’t you sod off and steal some or rem’s chocolate? i’m tired.” “i already finished it c’monnnnn i know you wanna.” “you’re so lucky that i love you sirius.”

-he always keeps you on your feet, there was never a dull moment with him and frankly, it was hard to keep up, no one knows where he gets all this energy from.

-it’s hard to really know what he’s talking about at times, he just says words sometimes and when he’s done he looks at you expectantly

-his energy levels fluctuate a lot though, one minute he’ll be running around the room chasing you like a zombie, the next he’ll be sitting down talking about cultural anthropology  

-he likes trying to see if he can trick you into eating foods you hate. for example, he’ll try and feed you olives by claiming they’re grapes or something, which obviously doesn’t work so he just shoves it in your mouth (olive slander is welcome here)

-when you two kiss it’s so intense, even if it’s supposed to be a short peck before you head off to class he’ll put both his hands in your hair and pull you closer, refusing to have a kiss less than 10 seconds

-when he hugs you he spins you around until you’re both about to fall from dizziness

-he’s so coquettish, even when you’ve been together for so long he’ll stroll up to you and use a horrible pick up line, or he’ll wink at you from across the room or shamelessly flirt with you in front of everyone, which never fails to amuse you

-sirius either sleeps for 17 hours straight or 3 hours, there is no in-between. he’s also a very heavy sleeper, it’s so difficult to get him up in the mornings if you two are late for class. he doesn’t really care that he’s late but for your sake, he drags himself out of bed, under the condition that you have to take a nap with him right after class.

-he hogs the blanket and when you try and pull it back he will just grunt and say “you’re so hot why would you need it?” which you’d just scoff at and throw yourself on him until he acquiesces to share the blanket with you

-the train ride to hogwarts is filled with laughter, the kind where it hurts to breathe and you keep adding things that make you both reel over. the other marauders are slightly confused, but they start to laugh as they see your faces turn red while tears slip from your eyes.

-you are such an energetic couple, you bounce off of each other and anyone who hangs out with you two feels like they’re babysitting

-if his hands are cold he’ll press them on your thighs, neck, or your stomach just to make you jump, which is the catalyst in you chasing him around the room while throwing things at him

-he pokes the side of your face so much you’re convinced you’ll get a dent, he also flicks you so much that by the end of class there's a red mark on your cheek

- “you smell so good love.” “stop sniffing me, creep”

-he likes carrying you bridal style everywhere, it’s so unnecessary and extravagant that it just works because it’s sirius we’re talking about

-you two play fight so often people are genuinely concerned because they’ll just walk into the common room and see you straddling him as you cause havoc on his face with a pillow or he’ll have you pinned under him as he relentlessly tickles you

-calling him fleahead just to rile him up

“why can’t i have a pleasant nickname? like mr. darcy, am i not like your mr. darcy??”

-him calling you cherry or mars because you blush a lot around him (he likes to tell himself it’s because of his undeniable charm)

-sneaking off to the astronomy tower together to listen to music while you’re under a blanket and holding hands, talking quietly about your home lives or anything that’s bothering you, letting the wind run through your clothing, causing the two of you to shuffle closer together

-he’s seldom quiet so when he is you know there’s something wrong. you never push him as he’ll open up on his own terms and when he’s ready, but you always make sure that he knows you’re there

-he’ll usually walk into your dorm shutting the door quietly, taking his jumper off, and curling up in your lap as he grabs your hand, your other one going to his hair immediately. his cries are silent but they don’t last long, only for a couple of minutes before he looks up at you and kisses the side of your mouth before going under your covers and hugging your waist tightly.

-when you walk in upset or crying he’ll immediately be gripping his wand asking who he’ll have to hex, it brings a smile to your face and you just shake your head before trudging towards him, your mood washing over you again. you straddle his lap and bury your face in his chest, trying to calm yourself down. his hands would immediately go to rubbing your back or stroking your hair. when your breathing starts to go back to normal he’ll hold the back of your neck, making you look up at him, he just wanted to see your face because even when you were sobbing he thought you were the most breathtaking person on earth.

-you two always shower together or take baths together and they’d be filled with horrible attempts at flirting and messing around

-drunk sirius is a disaster. he will trail after you like a lost puppy, he will hug your legs if you try to leave which leads to him being dragged on the floor as he grips on your calf for dear life. if you somehow manage to free yourself from his grip he does the most outrageous and embarrassing things to get you to come back. (imagine sirius drunkenly singing common people by pulp or the letter by the boxtops, using his bottle as a mic and prancing around the common room doing an idiotic dance)

-drunk sirius barges into your room screaming “i'm an english man!!” or singing parklike by blur (if blur existed at the time)

-so many polaroids, he has a box filled with them. it gives him comfort when he’s back at home

-he stares at you a lot

-he always greets you with a kiss on the back of your hand

-at first you were apprehensive about being with sirius for several reasons but you gave him a chance because you wanted to formulate your own opinion. he proved everyone around him wrong and it took you by surprise to see just how committed he was. he not once hid the fact he liked you, he made it very known that he wanted you and only you, even if it was embarrassing on your behalf

(can you tell i heavily associate sirius with damon albarn?)

[imagine-darksiders]

Just like. Head canons. For our lovely Dad Guys. Whoever you want. Whatever you want. I don’t care. Just. The Fluff Beast. 😫 Getting too strong...! Help! (I’m sorry 😂 Seriously, just do whatever you want. It’ll be beautiful and I’ll love it regardless)

Well, I’ve had this little Eidad fic on the back burner for a while now, sitting in my drafts and not doing a while lot. This seems like a good time to post it <3 <3 <3 

It’s a sick fic. Nothing too drastic, just an old maker getting worried about his human friend. 

---

Eideard has always been an especially unflappable maker, a trait that tends to come with the territory of being the village elder.

He never gets flustered, and he always maintains the poise and composure expected of him.

Unless, of course, one of his fellow makers is under threat. Only then, by his own admission, does decorum fly out of the proverbial window and little else but worry takes over him, mind, body and soul.

Recently, he's come to discover that the same rule applies to a very specific, little human.

----

“I'm cold.”

That ought to have been their first clue.

You're sitting in the maker's forge, seemingly content to remain still and quiet beside the roaring fire whilst Alya and her brother, Valus, are hard at work at their anvil.

“Cold?” the former twin laughs incredulously, glancing up from the sword she's forging to turn and fix you with a raised brow, “You're sittin' close enough to that fire!”

Her brother though, always the more perceptive of the siblings, ambles around her and makes his way towards you, tugging at the green cowl that sits around his neck. You may be vastly smaller than him, but even behind that visor, he can see the shivers you're trying to suppress. Blinking, you watch him as he bends onto one knee in front of you and holds his treasured garment out, uttering a low, almost undetectable whine.

“I'm okay, big guy,” you murmur, sounding far from it, “Think I've just got a bit of a chill.”

At that, Valus doesn't wait for you to reach up and take the cowl from his grasp and instead, with a huff, he leans forward to drape it around your shoulders, his thick fingers tucking it up underneath you as carefully as he can. Once he's finished, he sits back on his haunches to inspect you, satisfied when you snuggle further into the fabric and give him a shy smile.

“Thanks.”

Pacified, the burly maker returns your smile with a nod and pushes himself onto his feet, turning back to his sister and the anvil.

With their attention elsewhere, you allow your smile to fade, burying your face into Valus's scarf. 

You're loathe to tell them the whole truth, that accompanying your chills is a raw throat that feels as though it's been rubbed tender by sandpaper, and an ache in your limbs that only grows worse and worse by the hour.

There's no denying it.

You've come down with something.

At the very least, the makers don't know a lot about human biology, so you're relatively hopeful that you'll be able to pass this off as a mundane occurrence – definitely not anything they should be worrying about.

There is an unspoken rule amongst the giants, one that came about the moment they first laid eyes on you – a small, cowering little thing whose world had been destroyed only a few days prior.

The rule, never spoken aloud, yet understood by all, is that you are a youngling – despite your insistence to the contrary – and younglings are to be protected, especially those who have yet to reach their first century of life. 

It also doesn't help that you're a human, and consequently only stand about as high as the makers' knees.

But for as endeared to you as they all are, there are none who are quite so taken as Eideard.

The village Shaman, Muria, speculates that their elder has seen more younglings and friends die off over the centuries than any of them, and thusly, that's where his protective tendencies stem from.

Thane, on the other hand, attests that Eideard has always been enormously tender-hearted, long before grief softened his edges. 

If he were to find out that you're sick, you can't imagine he'd take it well.

Bottom line? You'd hate to worry him.

Unfortunately for you, there are some things that can't be kept from a group of watchful makers.

It's impossible to hide glassy eyes, tremors that rattle your whole body and a sudden, explosive sneeze that causes both Alya and Valus to jump out their skin, tools clattering to the stony ground.

“Stone's blood! Bit of warnin' before you go makin' noises like that, please!” Alya exclaims, resting a hand over her heart whilst Valus hurries over to you again.

“It was just a sneeze,” you try to protest, but the forge brother isn't buying it. Without a word, which isn't unusual, he clenches his fists and heaves himself about on a heel, marching purposefully towards the forge's entrance, deaf to his sister calling after him.

“Oi, Valus? Where are you off to?”

It's hardly a surprise that she doesn't get a response.

He disappears through the doors and you share a look with his sister, who hesitantly asks, “You.. sure you're okay?”

The fake smile you plaster on your face is apparently as unconvincing as it feels, judging by the flat look you receive from Alya in response. 

A few moments later, the doors swing open once again and your ears pick up two pairs of resounding footsteps thumping through the forge.

Valus appears first, lumbering up the short flight of steps onto the raised dais where he's soon followed by the second maker, a particularly concerned-looking Eideard.

As soon as the elder's pale, grey eyes lock onto you, you slump forwards in defeat, any hope of riding this illness out in privacy now dashed. Of all the makers in Tri Stone, Eideard is the most well-versed in anthropology.

Shooting Valus a glare for his betrayal, you swallow your cough and groan, “Valus, I told you, I’m okay. You didn't need to bother Eideard.”

“I for one, am very glad he did.” From underneath his bushy, furrowed brows, the old maker studies you closely until you duck your head, weighed down by the heaviness of his stare, the whole while, your throat burns with the need to cough. Then, in a blink, his eyes widen again and the fingers clutched around his golden staff turn white as he breathes, “You're sick...”

At once, Alya shoots upright from where she'd been leaning casually against the anvil. “Sick!?” she blurts, her gaze snapping between you and her elder, “Why didn't you say somethin'?!”

“Because!” you argue, hating that Eideard’s face now appears almost twice its age thanks to the worry lines permeating his forehead, “It's not a big de-” As fate would have it, the raw spot at the back of your throat finally chooses its moment, and before you can stop yourself, you're lurching forwards into a vicious cough that burns at the tenderness like acid, bringing tears to your eyes and shame onto your clammy cheeks.

You become vaguely aware of a vast hand coming to rest on your back and fingers that pat you gently until you can catch your breath. Even after you've hacked yourself silly, you push Eideard's silken, blue sleeve away and try to get to your feet, hoping that if they see you standing, they'll be less inclined to fret. But the moment you begin to move, the same hand is cupping around your trembling body and you find yourself being lifted up and nestled against a broad chest by a maker who is wholly undeterred by your feeble resistance. 

“I'm not a baby, Eideard!” you complain, trying to wriggle free as the maker presses delicately on your chest, forcing you to lay across his forearm, “Put me down! I can walk just fine.”

“Easy, now. You'll only hurt yourself further if you keep that up,” he rumbles in a tone that's far too gentle for your pride to withstand.

Embarrassed, you wilt down behind his fingers when you hear Alya's stifled giggles, but the old maker doesn't pay her any mind, simply turns away from the anvil and begins to shuffle down the steps, heading for the entrance. Almost immediately, you miss the fire's warmth and Eideard feels your shivers turn violent, his heart seizing at the sound of your teeth chattering together like rapid gunfire.

“You – you're not going outside, are you?” you croak, pulling Valus's cowl up to your neck, “It's freezing!”

“The weather is perfectly mild. You, on the other hand, are burning hotter than forge-fire.”

You open your mouth to protest but find yourself cut off when he continues, “I’ll not have this sickness turning into something worse. We may belong to separate species, but I wasn't born yesterday. A little fresh air will do you some good.”

“Ugh. You sound like my mum.”

His reply comes in the form of an affectionate, rumbling chuckle that you can feel travelling up through his palm and into your bones. Letting out a final huff, you flop backwards and turn limp in his hand.

It isn’t as though you can fight your way out of the Old One's grip, after all. For such an ancient maker, Eideard is powerful, and his age does little to detract from that strength. The meagre resistance you put up is also proven ineffective by the silken softness of the fur trim on his sleeves that you run between your fingers.

Perhaps if you'd been looking at Eideard's expression instead of the doors as he pushes them open, you'd take notice of the disquiet lingering at the edge of his eyes.

He plans on taking you to see Muria in the hopes that she might have a remedy that can alleviate the fever spreading through your delicate body, and, failing that, he will sit with you in the peace of the night air and keep you still and safe until your tremors cease and his old heart stops trying to beat its way out of his ribcage.

You're more than welcome to resent him for this, he muses quietly, but after seeing so many of his people lost to corruption, it isn't such an easy feat to quell the pervasive anxiety that writhes like an impatient, snarling beast in his stomach, and he would much rather endure your resentment if it means keeping you out of harm’s way.

The village elder is supposed to protect his own, and glancing down at you and seeing that you've buried your face into the fabric of his robe to escape the cold, Eideard realises with a sudden surge of paternal drive, that you fall under the scope of those he considers 'his.'

The old maker clutches you possessively against his chest and hurries as well as his tired legs can carry him up towards the Shaman's gazebo, knowing that his soul will never know peace until you’re well once again. 

[calboniferous]

In Theory

Work 1 in The Pen and the Sword aka. my jedi and academics AU

A stressed post-graduate anthropology researcher from Coruscant University enters the Jedi Archives for the first time and is promptly taken under the wing of one Master Archivist Jocasta Nu.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32355310

—

Master Jocasta Nu felt the visitor before she saw them. Stress and a frenetic energy radiated through the force tangled with the unique threads of emotion and colour that made up their signature.

Closing the book in front of her with a soft thud, mindful of its frayed edges, she appraised the blue nautolan hurrying towards her. Their worn brown coat was unbuttoned and struggling to stay onto their shoulders, saved by the strap of the bag hanging off one side which the nautolan had one arm wrapped around. Apparently, the bag’s tie had lost the battle against the tide of flimsy and datapads making the simple bag bulge obscenely.

Ah.

A scholar.

Like the many before them, they had come to Master Nu’s beloved archives in hope of finding salvation in its hallowed stacks. With her guidance, they always did and more often than not, they would return again. And again.

However, this scholar was not one that Master Nu had seen before and as they glanced wide-eyed at the towering shelves, shying away from passing Jedi, she surmised that the Jedi archives were unfamiliar to them also.

They reached her desk out of breath.

“I need books on Kante martial arts and history. Do you have books on Kante? If it has historical martial arts then that would be incredible but I’m setting the bar low. Really, the bar is non-existent. Should I even be setting a bar I don’t know- do you know what the Kante are? Were? They’re extinct”

“Young one, breathe.” Master Nu said, lifting her hand to interrupt the rush of words. Her brow softened in sympathy, “How about you start from the beginning and tell me what your thesis is and then we’ll go about finding resources.”

She signalled to one of the Padawans stacking holopads nearby for them to take over monitoring the main desk and led Tema to one of the many sunlit alcoves tucked between the buttresses.

Settling on a cushion across the low table from the sleep deprived nautolan, Master Nu pulled out her well-worn datapad, ready to formulate a list of texts to recommend for this student’s project. She had gathered quite the collection of such lists over the years and took great pride in curating them. Often, she would continue to add to them in her spare time so that when the person they had been made for returned, it was waiting and ready. And, if Master Nu happened to enjoy the thrill of a hunt for obscure references through her own archives every now and again, that was her own business.

Stylus in hand, she was ready to begin.

“You mentioned martial arts?”

“Right. Yes. I’m studying the fighting style of the Kante people which they used to reclaim their lands 7000 years ago after it was conquered in the Chandrillan Divide. The politics of the reclamation itself have been documented to death but there’s kriff all discussing how they actually fought,”

Master Nu hummed sympathetically, listening as a classic university post-graduate research tragedy poured out in all its glory. The purple shadows smeared under Tema’s dark eyes suggested that more than one night had been lost to this.

It was a credit to her Jedi training and skill as an archivist that Master Nu could write notes, elegant script flitting smoothly across the datapad without misspelling a single title or name, while offering comforting hums and interjecting words of encouragement where Tema faltered.

“So now I need to piece it together myself in order to build a theory on how the Kante people approached battlefield strategy,” Tema finished, fidgeting with their bag strap.

Setting her stylus down, Master Nu surveyed the drafted list with a critical eye. It was a daunting selection. She weighed the situation in her mind and carefully turned the datapad off, placing it down with a muted click of metal on the polished stone table.

“That’s quite the task you’ve got” Master Nu said, “more than an Honours project scope covers.”

She loathed to discourage any scholar but there were limits to the workload that could be shouldered and she had a strict honesty policy. With all her Jedi compassion and experience ad Head Archivist, Master Nu knew how to recognise when a student needed guidance in whittling down their research focus to a reasonable magnitude.

“I know,” Tema sighed, shoulders sagging, “I know but my project topic has already been approved by my supervisor.”

“Dear, your project as it stands is enough to satisfy a PhD and beyond. I can tell you are passionate about it but it’d be a tragedy for you to fail because you tried to complete years’ worth of work in the 10 months you have.”

The blue nautolan wilted a little, head tails curling.

“I don’t see what choice I have. I can’t form a thesis on the merits of Kante strategy without knowing how it worked at the individual level,” they said, resignation colouring their force signature grey with worry.

Master Nu paused, and after a moment spoke.

“Have you considered centring your project on the martial arts itself? At the individual level, as you say. Leaving the rest aside to focus on that should technically be within your project topic.”

Tema blinked, “That’s…that would work. Yes.”

Master Nu watched as they turned the idea over, considering how to approach it.

“Yes. That would make it more of a research-and-reconstruction project. A literature review with practical application.”

They gave a wry smile, “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

Some of the frazzled emotion of their presence eased and a few threads of humour sparked in its wake.

“I could have saved myself from being sick from worry in the University ‘freshers yesterday.”

They flushed a little darker at that admission and Master Nu suppressed what would have been a rather unprofessional snort of amusement as she clicked the datapad back on. Ah, younglings. They never changed.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, dear. That amount of stress isn’t conducive to clarity of mind, I’d wager,” Master Nu soothed, deleting a few items from the list with a satisfied air, “You’re hardly the first person’s I’ve known to have an adverse reaction to academic stress. Now, I do believe this list is ready.”

Rising with more grace than her age suggested she was capable of, she smoothed the creases in her cream and straw-gold robes and led the way into the maze of columns and shelves. Tema followed a step behind in a manner that to any observers bore remarkable resemblance to a duckling following its mother – if ducklings were six-and-a-half feet tall, that is.

“Somehow I find it hard to imagine a Jedi getting sick from assignments,” they mused absentmindedly, tipping their head to catch some of the book titles they passed, “all this information – it’d be hard to fail.”

Master Nu chuckled at that, passing through an archway into a side corridor.

“I’m afraid it can happen to anyone. One of my agemates routinely emptied his stomach at the prospect of examinations – that one, in fact,” she said, gesturing to one of the bronze busts lining the hall. The metallic features gave the human man depicted a severe expression. In Master Nu’s opinion, it was rather true to life even if the beard was far to neatly sculpted.

“The poor man. Perfection was as much his vice as his virtue.”

She smiled fondly, crows’ feet crinkling with nostalgia at sharing this particular story – at sharing the humanity of someone so proud and distant both in life and artistic rendition.

Tema faltered and the markings on their head tails blanched light blue.

“Oh, uh, my condolences.”

“Hmm?” Master Nu turned to them, “Oh no, he’s not dead. He’s retired.”

“Oh,”

They blinked, nonplussed.

“This way, dear”

The pair continued on their winding path. Master Nu, frequently gesturing to some architectural feature or other with her datapad, began to explain how the Jedi Archival system worked, pausing every now and then to pull a tome from the shelves.

“It is what many have described as ‘archaic’,” she said, stepping deftly onto the fourth rung of a sliding ladder attached to one of the shelves to reach her next target, “but no one—and I mean no one—has said it is an ineffective system.

“At least not in my earshot,” she said with a laugh, pulling the volume from its place and passing it down to Tema. The rumours the initiates (and fully-grown Knights) liked to spread about Master Nu’s draconian defence of the archives may not be entirely accurate but were taken by most as a warning to avoid slandering the archive in her presence. She knew Tholme liked to stir the pot and recount tales of her lightsabre prowess to the initiates, no matter that the stories were thirty years out-of-date.

“That being said, it can take some getting used to. The Padawans and Knight Archivists are always around and willing to retrieve sources for our visitors.”

Master Nu dismounted from the ladder, blew dust from her sleeve, and turned a critical eye on to the stack of books and datapads in Tema’s arms that had been steadily growing in size. The scholar looked strong enough to take a couple more, taking into account that their bulging bag would not fit anything more inside.

“That’s the last one from this aisle.”

She clicked her tongue and marked a check on her list next to the sources they were borrowing. They were all copies, of course, or volumes easily enough to source a replacement that their loss wouldn’t be abhorrent. Nonetheless, clean records made maintaining the collection less stressful on her soul.

On that note, Master Nu was pleased to feel that Tema was no longer pouring stress into the force like an anxious firehose. And—

She stilled, tilting her head as a familiar presence tickled the edges of her senses.

“Master Nu?” Tema asked, noticing her change in manner.

“Nothing to worry about,”

She once again took the lead. Down the aisle, then one aisle to the left and as they rounded the corner Master Nu smiled at the sight before her.

A little blue and beige figure was hunched over a book resting on the floor, absentmindedly gnawing on her Padawan silka beads and completely oblivious to the world around her.

“Padawan Secura! Why am I not surprised?” Master Nu called lightly and the twi’lek girl jerked, breaking from her literature-induced reverie to scramble to her feet.

“I’m not skipping sabre class again. I swear!”

Had it been any other Padawan of Aayla’s age group, Master Nu would think that emphatic declaration of innocence meant the Padawan in question was skipping class. Skywalker came to mind as a repeat offender of that variety.

Only question was that Junior Padawan sabre classes were always on Taungsday afternoons—this afternoon—and had been since before Master Nu was a crecheling. She hummed, unconvinced.

“Knight Kenobi is doing catch-up lessons this week and he said my forms were good enough to skip.”

That explained it. It seemed only yesterday that he’d been roaming the archives as a padawan himself, tearing through histories of the planets he’d visited at Qui-Gon’s side with single-minded focus. Shame that his lineage had picked him up before her own could. He would have made a fantastic archivist despite his record of being convinced to scale the bookshelves whenever Vos got temple fever.

Well, at least Aayla’s fencing education was in good hands.

Master Nu beamed at Aayla, “Then good work padawan and, as you are free, would you like to join us in gathering sources for Scholar Induri here?”

Aayla brightened, “Absolutely!”

And then, remembering her diplomacy training, bowed to Tema, setting her Padawan beads swinging. “Nice you meet you, Scholar.”

She scooped up the book she had been reading and as she put it back in its slot, Master Nu glimpsed the title.

“Reading Bastilla Shan again are we Padawan?”

The padawan blushed, fiddled with her tunic and handily dodged the teasing with a question of her own, “What are we looking for, Master?”

“See for yourself, young one,” Master Nu passed over the datapad, pointing to the highlighted entries.

Aayla squinted at the handwriting for a second before passing the pad back and running away down the aisle, one hand skimming the shelf labels. Padawans were lovely to have around and, watching Aayla slide 4 meters down a ladder and return to them with a grin plastered across her face, Master Nu wondered if she should take another student. Or, better yet, invite her former Padawans around for tea to see if more Grandpadawans would be joining the lineage soon.

“Thank you, dear,” she gave Aayla a pat on the head, “I’ll leave you to your reading. Just don’t forget to remind your Master that he needs to renew the materials he borrowed last month.”

Then, she turned to Tema who hadn’t made so much as a peep the past five minutes, seemingly satisfied to observe the interaction.

“Let’s get these checked out so you can get to reading them.”

Back to the main desk, the archivist and scholar wandered, and a minute later there was a new name entered into the borrowing database.

“Again, thank you for everything, Master Nu” Tema said, gathering the stack back into their arms. They were a little overwhelmed but they were smiling.

“Dear, it’s no trouble. One last thing, are you planning on enlisting someone practised in martial forms in your project? Or were you aiming for a more theoretical illustration of your findings?”

Tema cast their eyes to one side and shifted their weight.

“Ideally, yes, but I have no idea where to find someone like that so…theoretical?”

They trailed off.

“Good. I’m free to ask around here, then,” Master Nu said, tugging Tema’s bag strap so it was in less immediate danger of falling of their shoulder.

“If you need any help at all, don’t hesitate to send me a message or drop by. My archive is always open,”

At that, she tucked a slip of flimsy with her com code underneath the top datapad in the stack and gave Tema a parting pat on the cheek. With hope in their step, the scholar passed back out the archive doors, into the sunlight of the hall beyond.

Content, Master Nu smiled and watched them go.

“Now,” she mused to herself, opening the roster of temple-bound jedi and beginning to peruse the list, “who to ask…”

Her thoughts turned to the bronze bust of a man whose devotion to esoteric research was only outmatched by his skill with a blade.

His legacy…

Her eyes caught on a name. Yes, that would do very nicely indeed.

In the interest of vetting the source she intended to recommend, Master Nu made a mental note to attend next week’s exhibition tournament.

[fanfic-she-wrote]

The Resurrection of Dracula: Part 1

Sequel to my Dracula Reincarnation imagine. Takes place after the events of AD 1972 and Satanic Rites. Hope you like it!

It was the year 1872, the day of Lawrence Van Helsing's funeral. It was a clear and sunny day, but a very solemn one. Church bells could be heard from Saint Bartolph's as the priest spoke one final prayer, the coffin being lowered into the sacred ground below.

Henry quietly approached the churchyard, being careful not wanting to be seen. He knelt down just outside the churchyard and began digging a small hole in the ground, listening to the prayer and the sobs from the funeral goers, not that there were many. It was only a small group of people who attended, including what he assumed was his son. How unfortunate. He thought. If only he had listened to you then everyone would be alive and the boy wouldn't be without a father.

After digging a small hole, he pulled the vial of Dracula's ashes from his pocket and poured it into the Earth before covering it back up again. Then he pulled out the stake that had pierced his heart and stuck it into the ground to mark where he was. "I will find her, master and I will bring you back. I swear it! If I'm not able to myself, then I bestow it upon my descendants. We will not fail you." Henry swore, before getting up. He quickly glanced over at the crowd and saw a familiar face standing there. It was the man he fought at the manor earlier that week. His head was bandaged and he looked paler than usual. He sneered, walking away.

"Should have killed him when I had the chance." He mumbled to himself, getting back on his horse and riding off into the distance.

Later that night, another figure approached the graveyard. Her slender figure gliding through the fog, her long black dress billowing behind her in the soft breeze. She came to a stop just above Van Helsing's grave, looking down at the tombstone by her feet. In the soft glow of the moonlight you could make out a grin slowly creeping along her face like a venomous snake.

"Poor Lawrence." She spoke, her voice peircing through the silence like a knife. "How foolish you were. You spent so many years hunting the one thing you despised most of all, only to end up marrying one. Blinded by your hatred for Dracula you never saw it coming. The great Van Helsing wasn't so great after all." She lifted up her hand, taking one last look at the golden ring upon her finger before pulling it off and slipping it onto the thorny stem of a blood stained white rose which she then placed on the ground in front of the tombstone. "Goodbye Lawrence. Rest well...if you can."

Henry never completed his mission. He made many attempts to find you, but never did. He had hoped that once he found you, you could help him resurrect Dracula. After a while, he started to lose hope that he would ever find you. Eventually and rather unexpectedly, he fell in love and had a child, passing on the task from one generation to the next. As time went on, you became all but a legend. A legend that lay waiting. Waiting for the day to finally come when you would be released from your prison and to be reunited with your one true love...

A.D. 1999

It was New Years Eve. Jessica Van Helsing was on her way home from work after a long shift. As she drove home, she could hear people all over London drinking and having parties to celebrate the start of a new year and a new century. Unfortunately, she wasn't in the mood to celebrate. Her grandfather had just died and under very mysterious circumstances. It tore her apart every single day not knowing what happened to him. The police provided no console or answers as to his death. She had spent the last several weeks trying to figure it out for herself, but came up empty. She wasn't half the investigator her grandfather was. Whoever, or whatever killed him was far more cleverer than she.

She recalled the day before his death. He was very secretive, which wasn't at all out of character, but he was more so than usual. All he told her is that he was on to something very important, something she presumed had to do with the occult or the supernatural. After he retired he became more and more consumed with it. It worried her and rightfully so. His life's passion might have also been the cause of his death.

Finally, she pulled up into the driveway of her home and parked her car in the garage, taking out the bag of food from the trunk as she went.

"Hi, mom!" Her son greeted her as she walked through the door. Her son, Charlie, was 20 years old and was the spitting image of her grandfather, which made her miss him even more.

"Hello!" She said, forcing a smile. "How was school?"

He sighed. "Eh, alright. What did you get?" He asked, helping her unpack. Charlie was a college student who was studying anthropology at Oxford. After the death of his great grandfather he decided to take a semester off to help his mother cope with the loss and to be honest, he needed a break. He was never much of a student and the pressure of all his classes had begun to weigh him down. He had only decided to study anthropology at his great grandfather's insistence.

"Pizza of course!" Jessica exclaimed, trying to sound happier than she felt not wanting to dampen Charlie's mood on New Years. She knew he could have been off celebrating with other people his age and having fun but instead he stayed with her, and for that she was grateful.

"Finally some good food. I was afraid it was going to be sausage rolls again. Not that I don't enjoy a good sausage roll every now and then." He remarked.

"I know, I'm sorry. I just haven't been up to cooking much lately." She apologized as she put away the remainder of the food.

"It's fine. I get it." Charlie said, shrugging it off. "How was work?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Boring. Bookkeeping isn't exactly the most exciting profession." She told him. It was boring, but it was normal and that's all she had wanted after everything that she went through with her grandfather and with Dracula. Forcing that time out of her head, she popped in the pizza and followed her son into the living room, where they had their own little New Years celebration waiting for the clock to strike midnight.

As it got closer to midnight, Jessica found it had become difficult to stay awake. No longer were the days of when she could pull all nighters. Realizing his mother was dozing off, Charlie shut off the tv and quietly retreated to the library. He had a paper due in the coming weeks and he was eager to get some research done. Quietly he shut the door behind him and he began rummaging about the books for something to write about for his intended subject, vampires. Luckily for him, he didn't have to search hard. The library was filled with all kinds of books about vampires, werewolves, and pretty much any kind of strange thing that was ever thought of.

He pulled out an old yellow book from a shelf. On the cover it read, "The Legend of Dracula, The Vampire" in black letters and underneath he saw that it was written by an ancestor called Lawrence Van Helsing...whoever that was. "Well, it's a start." He muttered taking a seat beside the window. Suddenly, just as he started to read he could hear the shouts of his neighbors. It was now the year 2000.

He read chapter after chapter, completely losing himself within the pages. He didn't know whether any of this was true, but it was fascinating. Especially the vampire, Count Dracula. It was morning when he finally finished the book, craving more. But he was tired and decided it would be best to get some sleep.

As he headed up the stairs to his room, he met his mother out in the hallway. "Were you up all night?" She asked as she brushed her hair, getting ready for work.

"Yeah, I was doing some research for my paper." He explained with a yawn.

"Oh, I see. Well, get some rest. I'll see you tonight." Jessica told him, tapping his shoulder.

"See you." Charlie said, yawning again as he watched his mother walk out the door.

When he awoke some hours later, he found that Jessica had already returned home and could be heard scurrying around in the kitchen. Much to his relief he didn't smell any sausage rolls. "Charlie!" She called out. He quickly threw on a hoodie and ran down the stairs. On the table he saw that his mother had made his favorite dish, chicken and rice.

"What's the occasion?" He asked, sitting down.

"Nothing. It's mostly an apology for sitting you through so many lousy dinners lately." She told him.

"Oh, you didn't have to. I was only kidding. I'll eat anything." He said, feeling slightly guilty.

"Well ok then, I guess I can put this away and we can have some left over pizza instead." She joked, pretending to get up to clear the table.

He quickly grabbed his plate, pulling it close to him. "But I'm more than happy to eat this!" He said.

"I thought so." She chuckled, sitting back down.

"Besides, I already ate the rest of the pizza." He confessed.

"Why am I not surprised?"

As they quietly ate dinner, his mind thought back to last night, to the book he read about Dracula. "I have a question." He started.

"What's up?" She asked as she chewed a bite of chicken.

"I was reading this book last night. About a Count Dracula." Jessica froze and looked up at him upon hearing the name.

"What about it?" She asked, trying to remain calm as the memories associated with that name tried to force themselves to the forefront of her mind.

"Did Lawrence Van Helsing write anymore about him?" He asked, biting his lip knowing how she was sensitive about the subject of vampires. Why, he never could understand. They were just fictional right?

"It's for the paper I'm writing." He added, noticing his mother's hesitation.

"I guess there's no harm in that." She mumbled, taking a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "He has a journal. I'll get it for you after dinner...As long as it's only for your research."

"Of course. What else am I going to do?" He scoffed. Jessica gulped, not wanting to think about it. She was young once. She made mistakes. She just hoped that her son wouldn't make the same ones, but she trusted him, and that's all she could really do.

After dinner they returned to the library where she led him to a safe that was hidden behind a strange, creepy portrait of some man. She reached inside and pulled out an old brown leather book. "My grandfather found this under the floorboards in the basement. It's amazing it lasted as long as it has. Take care of it. It's old and it contains very important information." She warned him as she handed over the book.

"I will. Thanks!" He excitedly told her, walking over to the desk.

"I'll be in my room if you need me." She said, turning to leave.

"Ok. And mom?"

She stopped and faced him. "Thanks again. I appreciate the support." He told her with a sincere smile. From behind the desk he looked very much like her grandfather. It was almost as though he was alive again.

"Anytime." Jessica said, holding back tears as she left the room.

He dove into the book carefully reading every word, every sentence taking it all in. Lawrence Van Helsing had a very extensive knowledge of Dracula and vampires. How they couldn't go out during the day or be turned to dust and how they didn't have a reflection in a mirror, even how to kill them. He was very thorough as though he had first hand knowledge on the matter.

There were several pages written about Dracula. His history and how he came to be the prince of darkness. There was also a couple pages written about a mysterious woman called Y/N, who had fallen in love with the vampire. He talked about her like he knew her.

As he flipped to the final page, he saw a familiar looking face staring back at him. It was the strange portrait on the wall, but something was different about it. He got up from the desk and strode over to the portrait across the room. He stared at it for what seemed like an eternity. Why did they keep such a strange picture on the wall for? If only he could have a closer look...He thought, taking it down. Suddenly, it slipped from his hands and landed with a crash, the glass shattering across the floor at his feet. "Shit." He grumbled, bending down to pick it up. The frame was completely broken, only the picture remained in tact. His mother was going to be pissed. For some reason felt the urge to flip it over, curious to see if there was anything on the other side.

To his surprise he found something scribbled hastily on it. It looked to be a map of sorts with a small x drawn in the corner...but of where? He wondered trying to figure it out. It looked familiar, but he still couldn't place it. He went back over to the desk and opened a drawer where his great grandfather kept a collection of maps. He pulled one out and compared the two trying to figure out where the x could be deciding that whatever it was might be crucial to his research. Why had no one noticed this before? He wondered.

When Lawrence drew it, he must have been in a terrible rush. He could barely distinguish one landmark from another. He thought, feeling slightly annoyed.

Finally after several hours of twirling the maps around in the desk and swearing to himself, he figured out that the x was located in an old cemetery just outside of London. Charlie glanced at the clock. It was nearly 4 in the morning. Finding the mysterious x would have to wait till tomorrow night. He could feel his eyes getting heavy with sleep as he hurriedly cleaned up his mess, eager to get some shut eye. He carefully folded the picture up and stuffed it inside his pocket, hoping his mother wouldn't miss it.

Quietly he went up to bed. As he drifted off to sleep he wondered what he would find and he couldn't help but be excited. Perhaps it was some old family secret? Maybe there were some skeletons hidden in his ancestor's closet that no one dared to find out...

[thistle-and-thorn]

my goal-setting manifesto

So recently @woodswit wrote a super thought-provoking post about struggling with the benefits of loving feeling fit and struggling with external validation regarding fitness and so this is kind of my reference guide for myself about goal-setting and the way *I* need to remember to think about it.

I minored in a very specific form of organizational management in college and a huge part of that curriculum was goal-setting. We were encouraged to make one-year, five-year, ten-year career plans, we learned how to set SMART goals, how to identify what steps were right for you, etc. Well, babies, I did not need this curriculum because in high school we had done this exact same curriculum. SMART goals, college planning, etc. Bitch, I knew how to plan my life and, bitch, I had it planned. I was a very high-achieving and ambitious student—I went after awards, AP scores, good grades, letters of recommendation. The school system I attended was very typical of an American school in that those things were the primary indicators for success and the “quality” of our grades determined our classes (and subsequently our social groups) and myriad other things. I was a “good girl” and bought into and benefitted from this kind of structure immensely.

Well. I also have struggled with severe anxiety and periodic depressive episodes that significantly interrupt my daily life and ability to care appropriately for myself. These disorders reached a critical mass at the midpoint of my college career and, after two very bad semesters (one of which ended with me getting a tiny sexy scar from fainting into a doorway), I realized I needed to make significant changes to my priorities. More specifically, I needed to examine the method by which I was defining and collecting achievement and validation. So, after much therapy (I love u Claire), soul-searching, several glasses of a very good local hard cider, I decided to write out the way I goal-set now that enables me to actually breathe and not spiral into self-hatred.

Why Do We Need Goal-Setting?

I actually think that goal-setting is deeply important. If you are a dreamer, I would even say that goal-setting is essential. Personally, I’m a planner/dreamer and enjoy setting goals. It comforts me. Getting a little organized around amorphous ideas like “I want to be a novelist” or “I wish I could travel the world” allows those things to become attainable.

Process and Product

I would say that there are two ways of thinking about goals:

1. Product-Oriented: This is the type of thinking that was taught in my management classes and is exactly what it sounds like. If you do these steps, then you will get x-result. An example of a well-written product-oriented goal is, “By Tuesday, I need to complete three research reports.” (This is true, and I completed them today motherfuckers.) It’s concise, attainable, and happens within a set timeframe.

2. Process-Oriented: This type of thinking focuses on what you will learn or benefit from accomplishing an activity. When I was teaching preschool, an example of this would be taking the kids for a nature walk or free drawing, basically doing an activity where there is no expected result. There is nothing to achieve, there is no medal. The work and the discoveries you make doing the work is the reward. A process-oriented goal would be, “I want to learn about characterization from writing this story.”

In woodswit’s example, she talks about the benefits that cardio exercise has on her mental health, how much happier and confident she is when she is doing a certain variety of exercise regularly. She also talks about how she used to do intense sports.

In this case, a product-oriented way to frame that discussion would be, “I want to get back to the weight I was when I was playing sports” or “I want to be able to lift fifty pounds again.” You will take smaller steps to reach that product—changing the way you eat, figuring out a plan for to work up to lifting heavier things. But the product-oriented way is ultimately a binary—you will either be able to lift fifty pounds or not, you will either reach the weight you were or you won’t. But the process-oriented way to think about these things would be, “I love biking and want to do more of it. Every weekend this summer, I will bike a different rail trail in my county.” The process-oriented method is less specific, but it takes that pressure away from your performance—in the biking example, the only expectation that is set is that you’re going to travel to different bike trails, not that you have to go to every rail trail in the county or that you have to complete the whole trail when you go or that you have to do it in a certain time, just that you are going to go.

There is space for both of these methods, and they are best used in conjunction with each other. Product-oriented is useful, especially in financial situations. A goal for 2022 is to visit my childhood best friend in her new home, halfway across the country. Say I want to go in May 2022 and I figure out that it will cost me roughly $2000. I should probably set a goal with steps to save $2000 by May. It’s also beneficial for the smaller steps to bolster your path to your big dreams—When I was a kid, playing piano gave me a lot of discipline and I would like to have that habit again. That is a process-oriented way of thinking about playing music, but you will probably need to set smaller, product-based goals to achieve it—you will need to select a song and learn to play it, within that song you will need to master it measure by measure.

When we are trained to reach for product, it is hard to recognize the value of process-orientation. A phenomenal example is my WIP. The story I am writing now has 3% the amount of kudos as my biggest fic. I also had a goal of updating every Tuesday. By product standards, that story is a flop. It has the least amount of engagement of anything I’ve ever written, and I haven’t updated it in like two weeks. However, why do I write? I write because I enjoy it, I write fanfic specifically to practice new skills. This story has stretched my abilities and I’ve grown from working on it. By process standards, it’s the most successful of my fics.

And in terms of bigger life things? Process-oriented is the way to go. Why? Because if the pandemic taught us anything, it is that life is not linear. It is nearly impossible to set a straight path—be it up a corporate ladder or a fitness goal—why? Because life sucks. Someone dies, you become ill, it rains, you fall in love, you fall out of love—minute inconveniences happen every day. Process takes the pressure off of your performance because you can’t perform all the time. This is essential in fitness goals because our physical state is especially ephemeral. Of course, it happens in other areas of life, too. An example: In the autumn of 2017, I fell into the deepest depression I have ever been in before or since. I could not remember to shower, let alone do my anthropology homework. As a result, for the first time, I was struggling to create the basic products—like, you know, homework—expected in my classes. That was even more devastating. Around the midpoint of the semester, I realized that product was not sustaining me and if I didn’t want to drop out or harm myself when I “failed”, I had to change my approach.

Once my classes became less about “I need to feel my Middle East studies requirement so I can get a History degree and get an A so I can get on the Dean’s List,” and I reconnected with, “I want to learn a lot about the Middle East,” the products came more naturally. They came more imperfectly, too, but I was able to complete the product because I put less pressure on making them to a certain standard. It became easier to recommit to my goal of being a college-educated woman when I remembered the why of receiving a college education. In woodswit’s original post, she acknowledges that the definition of intense exercise is different for every individual. But it’s also different for the individual at different points in their life and recognizing that intensity and success are arbitrary standards is an essential part of reframing your goal-setting as being process-orientated.

How Do I Goal Set Now?

I still goal-set and a lot of my goals could be likely defined as product-goals. However, they are all made with a long view in mind—if I set a goal to run a 5K, what am I going to get out of it besides just saying that I can run a 5K? Here are ways that I stay process-oriented throughout:

1. Goal Periods

I have three times of year when I set goals: January, June, and Lent. I will set a date on the calendar every year to sit down and just think about what I want to accomplish just in the next twelve-month period and what vision I have for myself in three to five years. No more than that.

January is when I set my personal goals and June is where I set my professional ones. I keep a spreadsheet throughout the year of experiences I would like to have. I will look to this list for inspiration. In January and June, while goal-setting, I check in with the opposing goals. So, in June, I checked in with my progression on my personal goals. I rethought if those goals were still realistic and if I was benefitting from them and in what ways. Then I recommitted to them or adjusted them to help me reach them.

2. Holistic Goals

Unless it’s curing cancer, there is no single goal worth putting all the rest on hold for. Each goal is a battle, and your life is the war. This is a deeply privileged example but: the goal of living independently the first two years out of college was probably achievable. But the effort to achieve that one goal meant that, like, six other personal and financial goals would not be met. So, I put off my career goals and stayed at home and taught preschool for two years. It meant a delay while it seemed like my other friends were growing up and achieving at faster rates, but the temporary strain of achieving a particular goal is sometimes worth it when it dominos into other opportunities.

3. Goal Bundling

I bundle my goals now as a part of my goals check-ins. An example of this is: I loved studying abroad and would love to spend more extended time in the country I studied in during undergrad. I would love to go to graduate school. Ipso facto, presto change-o, I should look at graduate programs in that country and see if that is an achievable goal.

This post is a good example of all of this lol. Why did I write it? there won't be an audience for it but the process of setting all of these thoughts on to paper was cathartic, creating a reference guide on this topic for myself when I am depressed is important, and that has to, has to, has to be good enough.

[powerosewaterpuff]

yk so i was watching bmw (boy meets world :) ) while procrastinating an essay so oF COURSE i decided to write some more of my reverse robin au (that pertains to jason being the oldest of the batkids w/ him and dick growing up together) except fLUFF bc i cannot handle angst rn (oR cOulD I wE wiLL nEvER kNoWwwW)

oh and disclaimer there may be several medical inaccuracies so please feel free to correct me :)

jason often gets night terrors, ones that can get particularly awful when bruce goes on an overnight business trip. so one night bruce is in new york after being forced into it by lucius, with dick being adopted for some time now. dick was awake because he was having trouble sleeping, for no real particular reason in all honesty. he heard a short yell though, coming from the room next to him and he dashed over, tripping over his blanket and still gripping zitka tightly. he knew that he wasn’t supposed to fight yet, but he doesn’t really think about that as he yanked jason’s door open.

he then saw his brother laying on his side, turning back and forth, breathing heavily looking so visibly pained it was hurting dick. he rushed over to jason, his eyes darting around because he just didn’t know what to do. taking his chances he tapped jason’s shoulder gently, and he already felt like it wasn’t the right move but he sucked it up and tried again, only this time to some result. jason shot up, gripping on tightly to dick’s arm, his eyes hazy and unfocused and his chest heaving.

dick remained still, only slowly trying to push jason off of him and back into his bed. jason’s grip didn’t let but he laid back in bed, squeezing his eyes tightly as if he was trying to push away everything he had just witnessed. dick took this as an initiative to gently climb into bed, as jason fell back into a less violent but equally as stressful sleep. he placed zitka next to jason, who still hasn’t let go of his arm, and awkwardly sat up in bed, almost acting as a protector. slowly, dick began to doze off, feeling a lot more comforted in his brothers prescence then he had been in his own room.

jason on the other hand, doesn’t remember much of that night, as he rarely fully remembers any of his night terrors (only the scars they leave behind), but when he wakes up at the ass crack of dawn with a few fragments of something he would prefer not to remember, he puts it together rather quickly. he guessed it would happen, and he could’ve told bruce and he knew the guy would drop anything in a heartbeat, but that pissed him off, more so then it justifiably should. he wasn’t a child and he hadn’t been a child for a long fucking time, and it was stupid that he couldn’t deal with a single night without bruce. jason then turned onto his side, disgruntled with a new found rage directed at himself that he might take out on someone else, when he found dick, sleeping at an awkward position.

he was leaning on the headboard, but was slumped down and drooling a bit, which would have been hilarious blackmail material on any other given day. but today, jason felt a pit in his stomach. the only rational thought that his mind could conjure in its fear muddled frenzy was please tell me i didn’t hurt dick, pleasepleasepleaseplease. he quickly checked over dick’s face, cupping his checks and looking for any signs of a bruise. he had given bruce a particularly nasty one earlier in his tenure at the manor, after bruce attempted to restrain him while he was having a night terror so he could avoid hurting himself, instead jason kicked him in the jaw. he even felt bad about it the next day, which was an odd surprise for him at the time.

after checking over dick hasilty, he could see he wasn’t all that hurt, even though if he looked hard enough he could see inklings of nail shaped markings in dick’s right arm just under his shirt sleeve. jason felt a bit of bile rising up, as he gently shifted dick into a better sleeping position, and pulled the blanket up to his chin and slipped a pillow underneath him. dick opened his bleary eyes, mumbling jason’s name in question, and squinting his eyes. jason rolled his eyes but nodded, “yeah, it’s me. now sleep–why’re you shaking yer head? you don’ wanna sleep? too bad.” jason pressed another pillow onto the side of dicks face in a teasing attempt to smother him to sleep, but dick only proceeded to giggle, and snuggle closer to jason, who had sat up already. jason tossed the pillow to the side after a few seconds of play fighting, dick was going to be too sleepy to remember this break in the ‘teasing older brother’ façade. so, he ran his hand through his little brothers hair and laid back down, tracing soft circles into dick’s scalp absentmindedly. and feeling a rush of gratitude that bruce had brought this little circus boy into his life. he really didn’t know what he would do without his little brother. (needless to say, dick became a constant comforter in jason’s night terrors).

jason blames dick for everything. if a vase got knocked over, it was a dick. if the tv wasn’t working, dick had been playing with the satellite. if his phone was missing, dick stole it to play games. if his sweater had a stain, you better bet it was dick. the boy in question, of course, adamantly denies these facts and does have a way of persuading bruce (he is the golden child after all, jason could testify to that), but bruce also knows both of his boys are annoyingly good liars. so every incident is treated like a little miniature crime scene, and it never fails to make jason howl in laughter at dick explaining how he couldn’t have possibly used up jason’s shampoo because he has his own washroom with his own shampoo and so w h y jason w h y would i steal your shampoo. (jason’s usual response is a deadpanned ‘why wouldn’t you’, and that just gives bruce another headache as the two bicker on and on and on.)

the pair of them usually go biking together, and it’s usually quite tranquil to start. until dick makes a sly comment that jason’s old bones must be so tired from cycling, so why not take a break? jason snide reponse is how the fuck are you touching the pedals with your stubby ass legs. that’s really all it takes for them to delve into a full on biking race. it never really ends well, but the two always come out rolling in laughter so whose to complain.

dick thinks real housewives of beverly hills is better then new jersey, and jason is adamant that new jersey is superior in every shape and way. the two agree that atlanta is the absolute winner no matter what though.

jason is dick’s english tutor. and it’s safe to say that it’s an experience. dick already knew a fair amount of english growing up, his father had been a wonderful teacher but it wasn’t exactly up to gotham academy standards apparently (jason knew the feeling) and his accent was still quite prevalent to have him be considered an esl kid, so jason ended up being his tutor once dick started going to english class at school and after his time with an esl instructor. jason, who has an untapped passion for literature that not many can match, is absolutely dedicated to teaching dick, because fuck man this is genius! genius, dick! and dick isn’t exactly a fan, but he does secretly think jason should be a teacher, he’s better then any of the teachers he’s had that’s for sure (his father would’ve really loved jason too, that was also for sure). and dick is considering buying him a little briefcase with his little initials on it. ((it happens, and jason tries really really hard not to cry))

bruce is absolutely that parent that secretly takes pictures of every single moment possible. he isn’t a photographer, in any sense, but he likes to capture natural moments, and he has a series of pictures dedicated to the one trip him and the boys took to Barbados where he started this habit. he wasn’t and still isn’t a big fan of beaches, they’re hot, crowded and just too much for bruce to feel any kind of comfortable in. he remembers sitting under a floppy beach umbrella, feeling the knot in his chest sit heavily on his heart, fire ants scurrying across the underlining of his skin, burning under the side stares of those passing by. it wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of dick riding on jason’s little shoulders, as they trotted around waist deep in the clear ocean water, that the fist squeezing his heart like the rotten fruit it was began to ease. he glanced down at the camera that alfred had subtly slipped into their bag after dicks insistence, and lifted it up to fiddle with it slightly. then raised it up to take a swift picture. capturing jason mid laughter as he leaned back, in a joking attempt to shake dick off who was in the middle of a yelp but had entrenched his hands in jason’s mop of curly hair. it was hilarious imperfect, but bruce would not want it any other way. not at all.

(jason found it once. he saw the picture at the corner of his eye sitting by the keyboard of the ‘Batcomputer’ ((dick was so shitty with names, thank god he didn’t come up with flippy man as his code name )), and he hesitated for a moment before hastily grabbing it. examining it with an unexpected amount of gentleness, he rubbed his thumb against the glass above dick’s hands in his hair and felt something snake around his heart. slowly and methodically seeping into it until he felt like he couldn’t fucking breathe. then he heard damian trotting down the stairs as he explained the details of his anthropology class to dick who was hopping down behind him. jason shoves the picture back and grits his teeth together to ignore the sting that was absolutely not in his eyes)

aAAAND THATS ALL!! i’ve had these in my notes for a while so it’s relief to get them out there hehe so i really hope y’all enjoy ive legit been falling in love with this reverse au bC THERE IS SO MUCH POTENTIAL U G H IVE NEVER BEEN EXCITED TO WRITE SHIT UNTIL NOW SO Y A Y FOR INSPIRATION

Y A Y :)

[13-reasons-ideas]

Marry Me - Monty’s Perspective

A/N: Here it is. I’m so sorry this took so long to put out. I was having a really hard time getting into the right headspace to write this. I hope you guys like it! I recommend listening to Thomas Rhett’s Marry Me when you read this. As usual, feedback is appreciated and much love! -Em

Ellie was coming back into town for her engagement party this weekend. I was the first person she called when Evan proposed. She damn near gave me a heart attack when I answered, and she was scream-crying.

Flashback

I was watching the Chargers game when Ellie called. “Hey Elliebear.”

“Heaskedmetomarryhim.” She screeched on the other line. I had no idea what she said. It sounded like she was crying. And that I would be deaf in one ear. I pulled the phone away from my head until she stopped freaking out.

“What was that?”

“Evan proposed.” What?

“Oh?”

“And I said yes. I’m getting married Montgomery.” Oh.

“That’s great Ellie. Congratulations. I’m happy for you.” I cleared my throat, trying to get rid of the pit that was forming.

“Thank you. I wanted you to be the first one to know, so I just wanted to call you quick. I can hear the game in the background, and we have more people to call so I’ll let you go now.”

“Okay, tell Evan I said hi and congratulations.”

“I will. Bye Monty.”

“Bye Ellie.” I hung up and sat back on the couch. She’s getting married.

End flashback

I was on break at work when I got a text from Ellie.

Hey you. I just got into town with Evan for the weekend. Are you free tonight?

I texted her back a few minutes later, yeah I’m free. What’s up?

She replied right away. Drinks or coffee? Just you and me. My parents are going over some details for tomorrow with Evan that they don’t want me around for.

Sure. Meet you at Monet’s at six?

I’ll save you a seat. Usual order?

You know I don’t change things Elliebear.

I stopped at home to change after work into something more comfortable. I grabbed a clean pair of jeans and a random t-shirt before grabbing an old flannel and running out the door, so I wasn’t late.Ellie barely beat me to the café. It wasn’t surprising really, since she was always the early one.

“Hey, what can I get you this evening?” the barista asked her.

“Can I get a-”

“She’ll get a skinny vanilla bean latte with only one pump of vanilla, a dash of cinnamon, and extra foam in a for here cup. I’ll get a regular black coffee. And she’ll also have the chicken and spinach sandwich.” I said behind her. The barista looked at her, unsure if she should ring it in or not. Ellie nodded and turned around to face me. Before I had a chance to say anything, she jumped into my arms for a hug.

“Hey Elliebear.” I grunted.  

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

Our orders were finished quickly as it was surprisingly slow for a Friday night. Luckily, that meant our table was free. We sat down and conversation flowed easily. It was almost like we had never been apart.

“The ring is nice. It suits you. Bigger than I thought you would like but it’s nice.”

“It is nice, yeah. That reminds me, Evan said he’s looking forward to meeting you tomorrow.”

“So am I. See who finally caught your interest.”

“I was interested in other people before Evan.” She told me, scandalously. Sure, you did El. I didn’t let myself think about the possibility of her liking me that way when we were younger.

“Ellie. That guy from drama class doesn’t count. And neither does your chemistry partner.”

“I was not interested in Adam. And Zach was my chemistry partner. I can assure you I was not into him.”

“Please, enlighten me as to these people you were interested in before Evan.”

“There was,” she paused. “Dylan from sophomore English was cute. Ian. Couple other guys in high school. Peter from my first year anthropology class was… very attractive, and smart.”

“One guy aside from Evan? University of Georgia is a big school. There’s no way you only had eyes for two people.”

“I was busy. I practically lived in the library when I wasn’t in class or my dorm. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Is there a girl I should be hearing about? Or should have heard about?”

“Nah. Nothing important or anything to write home about. I was busy.” I wouldn’t call what I did, dating. The point wasn’t to find someone to bring home. Who I wanted to bring home was over 900 miles away.

“Oh please Monty, you played ball at OSU. You honestly expect me to believe there was no girl in your life?”

“No, no. There were girls. Just nothing really serious.”

“Uh, huh.” She replied, sarcastically. We reached for our cups at the same time and our hands brushed. I was immediately transported back to the day of homecoming in senior year.

Flashback

“Remember students. The homecoming game is tonight at 6:30. You’ll want to be there early as our Liberty Tigers take on the Hildebrandt Mustangs if you want good seats. It’s sure to be a nail biter.” Principal Bolan’s voice boomed from the intercom during the morning announcements.

“Don’t know why he’s hyping it up to be a nail biter.” Scott laughed.

“We are playing Hildebrandt. We could literally not show up and still win.” I joked. “Have any of you seen Ellie? She’s usually here to force me to English by now.”

“Nah man.” Scott replied.

“Need lover girl to make sure you do what you’re supposed to?” Bryce teased.

“Fuck off. It’s not like that with us.” Unfortunately.

“Sure it’s not Monty. I refuse to believe you never hit it.”

“Don’t talk about her like that.” I threatened, lowly. Don’t push it man. Bryce shut up at my tone. “I’m going to go try and find her. I’ll see you guys at lunch.”

She was arranging her books when I found her at her locker. She was trailed by Clay and Alex. I pulled her into my arms and lifted off the ground. “Montgomery, put me down!” she laughed.

“Never.” I laughed, evilly.

“I have to grab my chem book. And go to chemistry.”

“I’ve got it.” Zach said as he grabbed her book, “you carrying her to class today?”

“Nah, I thought about it but since I had to come find her this morning, I figure she can make it there on her own.”

“I was running late. My alarm didn’t go off when it was supposed to.”

“Excuses, excuses.” I replied, putting her down and shaking my head.

“I’ll see you guys later? Zach and I are running late.”

“Sure. Justin said if I don’t go to the game tonight, he’d tell mom and dad about Ani. And I don’t want to deal with that.”

“Someone has to keep Clay company, so I have to go too.” Alex said, pushing clay lightly.

“Great. I’ll see you then. See you at lunch Monty.”

I sat through just about the driest English class of my life, counting the minutes on my watch. Math was no better. We were reviewing for a test that almost the whole

class failed. Somehow that was our fault for not studying enough. I let out a sigh of relief when the lunch bell rang.

The table was already mostly full when Ellie came and sat next to me. “Ellie, think you could pray for us to not lose this game tonight?” Bryce sniggered from the end of the table.

“Hey, quit being a dick.” I stated. Bryce responded by chucking a grape at me. I threw it back at him. I knew how important her faith was to her. Some things just weren’t okay to be joked about or questioned. When it came to Ellie, faith was one of them.

“It’s fine Monty. Not like he hasn’t done it before.” I know he has. I don’t like it. “It’s going to take a lot more than God to help you win if you don’t learn to throw better than that in the next six hours. But sure.” I watched her from the corner of my eye as she smirked to herself before beginning. I’d seen her pray for real before. This wasn’t that. “Lord, please help the guys win tonight. Give them the ability to not trip over themselves when they make plays. And God, please show Bryce how to make the ball go where it’s supposed to and not hit some poor kid in the head again. Maybe, just maybe, then he will get laid tonight and we all know that’s really why he asked me to pray.” She smirked at Bryce. I choked on my juice. She probably isn’t wrong. Was pretty funny when that kid got hit though.

“You need to quit hanging out with Monty, he’s rubbing off on you too much. And I was serious.”

“I know. I’ll do it for real after lunch. You can sit with me if you want.” She was true to her word. I was late for Geography because I was watching her sit in an empty alcove praying. Bryce didn’t sit with her.

The locker room was abuzz with excitement. It was the homecoming game. Not to mention our season opener. If we wanted to start the season off right, we had to win. Sure, we joked around about Hildebrandt being an easy team to beat-they came in second to last in the league last year-but there was still a chance they would pull off a miracle. Especially if Bryce threw like he did at lunch. “Yo Monty, is Ellie coming to Monet’s tonight?”

“She said she would. Not that she’ll give you the time of day.” I waved off Matt’s question. She’s not interested. Trust me. Find someone else to have your eyes on. Several ‘oooo’s were voiced around us.

“How do you know?”

“Just do, man.”

“I could treat her real nice. She’d beg me for more.” Are you fucking kidding me?

“Oh shit.” Someone muttered, seriously. I didn’t really hear who it was. The sound of my blood rushing in my ears was too loud. Coach Kerba wasn’t in the room. He was talking to Banes about plays. No one in here will snitch. Not when it’s about Ellie.

I immediately turned towards him and cornered him against his locker. The rest of the team stood silently, watching us. I got real close to his face so only he would hear me. “You even think about her like that again and I will bury you so deep they’ll need ground penetrating radar to find you. Not that they’d recognize you if anyone found your body. If you so much as brush against her too hard in the halls, I’ll break your jaw. You understand Carraway?”

“Y-yeah. I got you. Never said a word.” He breathed in response. I had scared the living shit out of him. Good. I stepped away from him and after a few beats the incident was forgotten and the mood was light again.

The game wasn’t that exciting. Had it not been homecoming, most people probably wouldn’t have shown up. As expected, it was in our favour most of the first half. Ellie waved at me between plays. She was practically beaming. During the second half Hildebrandt seemed to find their groove and the game was at least interesting to play. It wasn’t the nail biter Principal Bolan had promised this morning. Everyone knew that regardless of how we played, we would end up winning. The game ended and the team and the crowd were excited. Matt and Garrison were so excited by the win, they tripped over their own feet and faceplanted on the sidelines. The excitement died down for a moment until they shot up and went on celebrating.

I waited for Ellie outside the locker room, as per our tradition. “Good game.” She called.

“Of course, it was. I was on the field.” I smirked.

“Modest as ever I see.”

“Do you expect anything else at this point Elliebear?” “Not really. But I can hope, maybe one day.”

“Maybe, but not likely.”

“Oh hey, while I’m thinking about it, Clay asked me to keep an eye on Justin tonight.”

“Is everything okay?” My brow furrowed.

“I think so. Clay said something about him having issues adjusting and stuff. Do you think you can play nice with him for a while?”

“I suppose, since he is your friend, I can try and be nice for a while. But not all night. I want some Ellie time.” Only because it’s you asking.

“And you’ll get your Ellie time. After you make nice with Justin.”

I sighed, making it seem like a hassle just to get a rise out of her. I was about to respond when Bryce called us, “are you two going to stand there and chit chat all night or are we going to celebrate?”

“We’re coming. Give us a minute asshole.” I called back to him. Bryce didn’t respond.

I turned around so I could give her a piggyback out to the car. “Hop on”. Once she felt secure, I walked us out to the parking lot. I pretended to not pay attention when she stole my baseball hat. She couldn’t see the way my smirk turned into a smile when she did.

“That’s my hat El.”

“I know. I happen to like it though, so I’m wearing it.”

“I’m not getting it back tonight, am I?”

“Nope. It is now mine. Might even write my name in it.”

“You do that Ellie. I won’t care when I steal it back who’s name it has in it.” Already has my name in it. Yours would just complete it.

“Fine. Then I’ll readjust it.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would.”

I set her down at her car. “No, you wouldn’t.” I called her bluff. You’re too sweet to do it. Or you’d fix it right away if you did. She rolled her eyes at me.

“Whatever. I’ll see you at Monet’s in a few with your precious hat.” I waited until she got in her car and drove off, before starting my own engine and following her.

Ellie beat me to Monet’s as usual. I nodded at and stopped to chat with some of my teammates when I came in. Matt nodded awkwardly at me as I passed. I glared in return. My coffee was set across from her when I got to our table. “I see you told the truth. Can I have it back now?”

“No. I think it looks quite fetching on me, if I do say so myself.”

“Fetching?”

“Yes. Do you disagree?”

“No, I think it looks good on you.” Not that anything would look bad on you. Suits her. She’s wearing my shirt.

“That’s what I thought.”

We chatted quietly before Justin showed up. “Hey guys.” He waved.

“Justin! You made it.” She exclaimed, too excitedly. Making him think you were forced to babysit him by being overly happy isn’t going to help Elliebear. I shot her a tone it down look. Justin smiled uncomfortably as she offered up her seat. “Make room.”

“Can do sweetheart.” I flirted, patting the chair next to me. The smile and blush she tried to mask didn’t go unnoticed.

“Thanks for the coffee Ellie.” Justin said, taking a sip.

“No problem.” The three of us chatted idly for a while. I was on my best behaviour with Justin and even laughed a few times at couple things he said. There was no mention of what he witnessed in the locker room.

My hand found Ellie’s under the table and I grasped it carefully. I had to make it look like I hadn’t done it intentionally. I could see the pink flare of her cheeks and my lip twitched upwards.

“Hey Justin, come over here and look at this.” Charlie called. He was looking at something on Garrisons’ phone. Justin left us to go investigate. I caught the quick glance at our hands, even if Ellie didn’t. Thank you, Foley.

“And then there were two.” I muttered, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Then there were two.” She repeated.

“That shirt looks good on you. It’s pretty familiar too.”

“Oh, yeah. There may be a reason for that.” She seemed nervous.

“Need to go talk to Mike?”

“Not if you don’t have a problem with it. I think he would agree it was simply borrowing, rather than stealing. No need to involve Jesus.”

“I am. So now you’ve got my shirt and my hat. Anything else you intend on taking of mine?” I slowly inched closer to her. We have never gone here. But there’s no way she doesn’t feel this pull.

“Possibly. Depends what else you’re willing to offer.” She said, coyly. My fingers itched to brush the hair from her face. She beat me to it.

“I think there’s a thing or two I could offer you Ellie.” I replied, leaning in a little more. What am I doing? What if she doesn’t feel the same way. Am I about to ruin our friendship? Do I even care? Before I could kiss her, fucking Bryce Walker beckoned from across the room. Son of a bitch. You couldn’t wait two god damn seconds, could you? This better be important.

I stopped just short of kissing her. “What?” I answered, curtly.

“My place, half an hour.” He called back. That is what was so important you had to interrupt this moment? That could have waited. Fucker. I nodded in response and turned back to Ellie, hoping the moment wasn’t gone. I knew it was though. I sighed internally. She was smiling at me, but it didn’t reach her eyes like it normally did. She’s upset. I didn’t know what to say to try and salvage our moment. Instead, I watched her take a sip of her latte and check her watch.

“Shoot. Is that really the time? I have plans with my mom in the morning. I should get going.” I’ll take bullshit for 200, Alex. She never was a good liar.

“Oh, okay. Are we still on for waffles Sunday afternoon?” I tried to hide my disappointment.

“Yeah. Be at my place around one? I need to talk to Pastor Mike about a few things after service.”

“I’ll be there. Text me when you get home.”

“I will.” She hurried out of the café so fast, someone might think there was a fire.

I threw my head back in my chair and ran my hands down my face. Bryce and Matt were watching me when I looked out at the room again. I mimicked Ellie’s actions and took my half empty cup to the counter. “You couldn’t have waited one minute, could you Walker?” I grumbled as I passed him.

“Sorry dude.” He called after me. “My place-.”

“Half an hour. Yeah. I got that.” I shook my head as I left the café.

End flashback

I turned to watch her take a sip of her latte. She still savoured the taste and licked her bottom lip the same way. “What about the blonde girl you told me about briefly?”

Blonde girl… Lip piercing? No. Was a red head. The sorority girl? That was the brunette with the Adderall. Blonde… oh! Chirpy. “Sara?”

“Yeah.”

“She was nice. Very peppy and chipper though.”

“Ah yes. Need to keep up that stoic exterior. Can’t have someone too chipper, lest people think you have a soul or something.” You always thought I did.

“Exactly.” I laughed. He took a long sip from his cooled coffee. “Can you imagine if I brought her home?”

“Well, knowing your mother, I would probably be attending your engagement party tomorrow instead of the other way around.”

“Oh probably.”

“How is your mom doing, by the way?” “She’s doing okay. After dad died, she was pretty out of it for a few months. She’s gotten better with time though. Really started to come into her own and forge her own path.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

���Not going to ask how I’m doing Ellie?”

“No. I know how you’re doing.”

“Oh really?”

“Montgomery. I am your best friend. Your dad was never a parent. DNA doesn’t make someone your family. You’re doing the same as you did the day you left and vowed to never speak to him again.”

Her easy explanation surprised me. “Sometimes I forget how well you know me.”

“I know. That’s why I have to remind you all the time.”

“Yeah, yeah. How did Evan react to Scott on the way from the airport?”

“I’m not totally sure. I don’t think he realized how things worked at Liberty and exactly what you and I being friends meant. Scott told him about the treehouse.” Oh God.

“Oh no. Ellie. I need to look the guy in the eye tomorrow.”

“I know you do. Don’t worry. He didn’t seem upset or anything. I think he found it amusing actually.”

“Did he tell him anything else?”

“About you?”

“Yeah.”

“No, mentioned how you guys fucked up and didn’t study for midterms and I singlehandedly kept you all on the team. And how Matt and Garrison managed to keep themselves above their feet until after homecoming senior year.”

“Of course, he did.”

“Don’t worry. Evan will like you.”

“How do you know?” Why do I care? Because you love her you dolt.

“Because I like you. And even though you think you are, you really aren’t a bad guy.” We talked for about another hour or so, just catching up, before we decided to call it a night.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Three o’clock sharp.”

“Good.” She squeezed me tightly. When we pulled apart, I looked down and saw she was wearing my shirt. She kept it all these years.

“Is that my shirt?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I thought I lost that years ago.”

“You never asked for it back. We agreed that I technically borrowed it, remember?”

“Yeah, but I also thought you would have given it back by now.”

“I mean, I can give it back to you tomorrow if you want it.” She offered.

“No, no. You keep it. You seem comfortable in it.” She smiled and hugged me again before leaving.

No matter how much I tried to talk myself into cancelling at the last minute or just not showing up to the party, I couldn’t do it. As much as I wanted to let her finally think that I was an ass, I couldn’t. I couldn’t hurt her like that. So, I manned up and went to Ellie’s engagement party. I showed up right at three, as promised. “Hey you.” She beamed. Her whole face lit up when she saw me.

“Hey Elliebear.” I said as I hugged her. Evan stood to the side, giving us a moment. He looked so uncomfortable with our interaction. Maybe he noticed how much brighter her face got when she saw me. She pulled away first and turned towards her fiancé.

“Evan, this is Monty. Monty, this is Evan.” She motioned between us. I shook his hand awkwardly.

“So, you found the way to Ellie’s heart, huh?”

“Yeah. She is something special. I thank God every day that she decided to give me a chance.”

“Don’t I know it?” I replied, trying to hide the wistfulness and ignore the pang of jealously in my chest.

Jill called her over for something and she pointed Scott out to me. Trying to avoid a pissing match El? “Coming Mom. Scott is over there by the cupcakes. Try to keep him from eating himself to a sugar high?”

I laughed, “can do Ellie. It was nice meeting you Evan. Congratulations.”

“You too Monty. Enjoy the party.” He doesn’t like me.

“Hey Scotty.”

“I didn’t think you’d show up. Justin and I had a bet going. I owe him fifty bucks.”

“Well, you know. It’s Ellie.” I grabbed a cupcake from the stand and took a bite. Not bad. I see why she wants me to monitor Scott.

“That’s why I didn’t think you’d come.”

“You came.” Justin said, patting me on the back in lieu of greeting.

“Yup. Where’s Sasha?”

“Girl talk with Ellie and Jess and some other girls.”

“Riveting. What choice did I have? My options were come, watch her with Evan, and hate every second of it for an hour or two, or, not come and have her hate me for the rest of our lives.”

“I guess. Are you going to go to the wedding?” Justin asked.

“See if Evan lets her invite me first. He doesn’t seem too impressed so far. Thanks for that by the way Scott.”

“I’m sure he’ll warm up to you.”

“If you’re invited? Which you will be, because you’re her best friend.”

“Then what kind of best friend would I be, if I didn’t go to her wedding? I’d just hate myself for a few more hours then. That’s better than a lifetime of her hating me.”

“Fair. Look, if you want to leave, just say the word. We can go back to my place and drink.” Scott offered.

“Thanks. I need to stick it out. It’s Ellie.” The rest of the party was fine. I talked to Jill and Rob for a while. I even talked to Evan for a bit. It was awkward but we didn’t fight each other. If he suspected anything about my feelings for her, he didn’t say anything. I left that evening, wondering if he noticed Ellie looking for me and not him all afternoon and letting my brain go somewhere it hadn’t gone in years. At least, not willingly gone in years.

I held out some sick hope that maybe, just maybe, the engagement wouldn’t last. I knew it was wrong of me, but I couldn’t help it. This was the girl that I had been in love with since the eighth grade. That’s when she stopped being like one of the guys. When she became something more. Even though I knew it wasn’t an attainable thing, even back then, there was always this little spark of hope. She was the reason I didn’t really date in college. She was the reason no girl was worth bringing home to meet my mom. They were all compared to her. They would always be compared to her. I always hoped that she felt the same way about me as I felt about her. That hope vanished when I checked my mail after work that Wednesday. The fancy envelope and familiar script were enough of a giveaway. I didn’t need to open the card to know what it was. The invitation. I sighed as I went in the house and opened the card. I merely skimmed for the important dates and time. I knew in that moment that I had finally lost her. I also knew that I would go anyway as I signed, sealed, and mailed the RSVP that night. I had to go. It’s Ellie.

**

The day had finally arrived. I had been dreading this day for the better part of a year. It was the morning of Ellie’s wedding. I woke up, forced myself to get out of bed, made coffee, and showered. I stared at the black suit hanging on my bedroom door for fifteen minutes. Arguing with myself about if I was really going to do this was getting me nowhere closer to a decision. If I go, I’ll hate myself. If I don’t go, she’ll hate me. If I go, I’m losing her. If I don’t go, I’m losing her. If I go, then I’ll get to see her. If I don’t go, I won’t see her. If I go, I’ll have to hold my feelings in forever. If I don’t go, I’ll have to hold my feelings in forever. Finally, I came to a decision. I wasn’t willing to risk losing her because I couldn’t show up for her. If I wasn’t going to be able to be with her, at least I could still be in her life. Maybe. But I’d cross that bridge when I got to it. I put the suit on and fixed my hair. Then I went to the liquor cabinet and filled a flask with whiskey. I couldn’t drink it in church because if Ellie found out, she would kill me, Ten Commandments be damned.

I arrived at the church forty-five minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to start. I took a sip from the flask in my pocket on the city sidewalk. Spotting Bryce, I walked over to him. “Hey.”

“Hey man, how’s it going?”

“It’s going, you?”

“Same old, same old.” We chatted mindlessly for a few minutes until Justin showed up with Clay and Sasha. I’m shocked we haven’t gotten a happy announcement from them yet. She looks thrilled.

“Justin, Clay. Hey Sasha.” The trio greeted me, and Clay took Sasha inside. He seemed to pick up on the displeasure radiating off of her.

“Holding up okay?” Justin asked.

“Sure.”

“He’s at his best friend’s wedding.”

“I know. Just trying to be nice Bryce.” Zach showed up and broke some of the tension brewing between Bryce and Justin. Never thought I’d be happy to see Zach freaking Dempsey.

“So, I heard from one of the groomsmen that she looks beautiful.”

“Of course, she does. It’s Ellie. And it’s her wedding day.” I said. Scott found us milling in the back of the chapel and came over. He didn’t bother greeting us.

“Have you talked to her?” he asked.

“No. I wanted to give her space. In case I decided not to come.”

“Oh. You could go talk to her now.”

“And say what Scott?”

“Tell her.”

“Tell her what? It’s her wedding.”

“I know that.” I looked around to see if anyone was paying attention to our little group. They weren’t.

“Tell her what exactly Scott? How do you propose I go about telling her that I think she’s making a mistake and that I’ve been in love with her since we were thirteen? I’m not going to do that. Not today. Not ever. I’m not messing this up for her.” I whisper-yelled.

“He has a point Scott.” Zach pointed out.

“If I say something, I’ll lose her forever. So, to avoid losing my best friend, I’m going to sit here, watch her marry the man she loves, and wish her the best. And then I will go home, get very drunk, and sleep the hangover off for the next two days.”

Scott raised his hands in defeat. “Okay. I get your point. I’m not going to push you into doing something you don’t want to do.” Even though I made a good little speech, the closer we got to the ceremony, the more uncomfortable I became. I couldn’t stop the thoughts of wanting to do exactly what Scott suggested. I wanted nothing more than to go find her and tell her how I felt. But then I looked around the room and saw all of these people waiting excitedly to see Ellie and Evan get married and live happily ever after. I wasn’t going to be the reason that didn’t happen. But the closer we got to ceremony time, the closer I also got to losing my resolve to sit here and watch this happen. I couldn’t watch her marry someone else.

“I can’t do this.” I said suddenly.

“What?” Zach asked.

“I can’t watch her marry him. I can’t sit here and watch them get married. I can’t give her up like this.”

“What are you doing Monty?” Scott asked. I stood up from my seat.

“Tell Ellie that I’m sorry.” With nothing more to say, I turned around and walked out of the church. My friends didn’t try to follow me, too stunned to process what was happening. I got in my car and drove. I wasn’t sure where I was driving until I pulled into the lot.

I opened the door to the quaint café and saw that our table was available. Though, I suppose now it was more my table than our table. I lost her today. There was no way I was getting her back after what I did. I slipped my jacket off and hung it over a chair to save the spot, before going to the counter and ordering.

“Can I get a tall bourbon neat. Make it a double.” Monet’s had been licensed a few years ago.

“Sure thing. Rough day?” The barista asked.

“You have no idea.” I shook my head and took the drink she set in front of me. Back at what was now only my table, I pulled out my phone and scrolled though some old photos. A lot of them were of Ellie. She used to like to steal my phone and leave me with some selfies to surprise me when I opened the app. I scrolled through the seemingly endless stream of photos and ordered another bourbon when I finished the first one. My trip down memory lane was interrupted when I got a text from Bryce.

I need you to tell me where you are.

Why?

Because I do. Now tell me where you are.

Why?

Montgomery. You want to tell me where you are.

Fine. If you must know. I’m at Monet’s. Now why do you need to know?

I’m sorry about homecoming night. I hope this can make it up to you at least a little. I stared at the screen in confusion. Shaking my head, I put my phone down and went back to sipping the amber liquor. What the hell is he talking about? Fucking Bryce. I didn’t look up when I heard the bell chime above the door. Nor did I look up when I heard the click of high heels against the wood floors.

“Is this seat taken?” I heard a familiar voice, softly.

I looked up at her then, my eyes widening in surprise. What is she doing here? She is supposed to be getting married to Evan. What does this mean? Why is she here?

“I couldn’t do it if you weren’t there. You’re my best friend Monty.”

I scoffed quietly before replying, “it’s not taken, no. Sit if you want,” and taking another drink from my glass, not looking at her for fear of letting my guard down again, only to be crushed again.

“Hey,” she started, reaching for my hand. I looked at her hand and paused before letting her take it, “I mean it. I couldn’t marry him.”

“Why not?”

She was quiet for a moment. Noticing I had about fingers width of bourbon left in my glass, she grabbed it, downing the rest of it.

“Hey. I was drinking that.” I protested.

“I couldn’t marry Evan because he wasn’t you. And you weren’t there to say anything by the time I walked down the aisle. You were just going to give me away and live the rest of our lives wondering what if.” She told me while she stared into the bottom of the now empty glass.

“You- really?” Wait, how did she know I was there? “How did you know…?”

“Zach told me.” Of course, he did. I sighed internally.

“I know I wasn’t there Ellie. I just. I couldn’t sit there in that church and watch you marry him. And I knew I was and would be too much of a coward to stand up and say something when I saw you standing up there with him. I had to let you be happy.” I told her, trying to make her understand that I couldn’t be the reason she spent her life unhappy.

“Don’t you get it Montgomery? I wouldn’t have been happy. Not really. Or at least not for long. Not with Evan.”

“So why did you agree to marry him?”

“Because I thought it would be easier? My friends liked him, my family liked him, I liked him. I just thought that it would be easier to ignore my feelings. I could marry him, officially move to Atlanta, come home a couple of times a year, have a couple of kids. It all seemed easier than admitting to myself that I was in love with my best friend and if I really, truly wanted to be happy, I would need to be with him instead. And that admitting that would change everything. But I’ve learned over the past year that easy doesn’t always mean happy. And sometimes what we think is easy in the short term, isn’t always easy in the long term.”

Easier. Sure. She finally admitted it. She’s in love with me. I chuckled lowly, “took you long enough.”

She furrowed her brow at me, “what is that supposed to mean? I just confessed my love for you, and that’s all you have to say?”

“Yeah. It took you long enough to come to that conclusion. You were what? Half-way through the ceremony before you put a stop to it?” I asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of my tone.

“Not exactly. I knew a while ago. I spent the whole morning shaking and waiting for you to come and tell me that I was making a mistake. When you didn’t come, I thought… that you either didn’t feel the same way, or that you were going to do the kind thing for once and not say anything, but I thought at least you would be there. When I saw that you weren’t, I knew I couldn’t marry him. Even if it was the easy choice.” When I didn’t say anything she added, “you picked a great time to do the kind thing.”

“Yeah, well. You knew it would happen sometime. You owe me another shot by the way.” I muttered.

“Oh please. There was barely a fingers width in your glass.” she told me, sighing dramatically.

I looked at her through my eyelashes, “they won’t serve you that small an amount.” she rolled her eyes and stood up to go order me another shot. Before I could chicken out again, I surprised her when I grabbed her wrist to stop her, before pulling her down into my lap, she fell rather gracefully given the fit of her dress and kissing her deeply. I pulled away first and turned to look out the window. Our friends had gotten out of the car and were clapping and high fiving each other.

“How about that shot now?” I smirked.